Dark Side: the Precursor
by Katrina Marie Lupin
Summary: Companion one-shots and short supplements to the Dark Side series. Backstory for the Dark Side.
1. Firewhiskey

Author's Note:I'm going to try to keep all of the Dark Side one-shots in this file, now... I know, tricksy, but I'm trying. These are supplemental scenes, showing the transition from canonical Stork and Piper to Stork-as-Captain, and how the _Condor_ changed the way she did, and why. It should answer questions, and give more insight. I encourage you to follow along with it – but read Dark Side first.

This piece just makes for a great prologue/teaser. It bounces around a bit, but I'll help you out: Parts 1 and 3 are post-Dark Side. Part 2 is from the end of Dark Side (I imagine), and Part 4 is pre-Dark Side. It takes place some time after "Crash" but before the "Tenderness" chapters.

xxxxx

"Piper..."

She looked up from her lab table to see him, with that snide little smirk that was as close as the Merb got to an excited grin. She smiled, too.

"I hold in my hands a bottle of the finest white firewhiskey, from Terra Numar," he purred temptingly, holding a long-necked piece of glass that seemed to be filled with nothing, despite the black label emblazoned with silver. One side of his mouth turned up a bit farther than the other. He made an elaborate bow, touching his chest with a green hand, holding the bottle outstretched with the other. "I would be honoured if you would join me in a partaking of this wonderous substance. It's a shame to drink something so fine alone, and you do make the best company."

She smiled. "Alright. I'll finish up here and meet you in the Galley."

He took on a flirtatious pose. "Do you like it... dirty?" he asked in that dark voice. Those narrowed eyes held a disturbing danger that was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. And with his growl... She felt her breath catch in her throat. He still did that to her on occasion, though she wasn't sure if he was really aware of it, and she didn't sleep well afterwards. It made her question herself, and the 'new' way of doing things. The old way of doing things.

"Uh, neat." She coughed. "It's... neat, Stork."

He blinked, and then stared at the transparent treat. When he realised his mistake, he glared at the sky, a curse in his eyes, and dropped his arms. He looked to her to share in his annoyance. "Of course it is," he said. He held the bottle up again for a closer examination. "Maybe the high proof will kill off the mind worms..."

He left the room, still contemplating the bottle, and she watched him go. Slowing peeling off her gloves, she let out a great sigh before collapsing on her chair.

"Gonk..." she whispered to herself. _Neat_, she told herself. _Whiskey neat. That's what he'd been asking. He'd been asking if she drank her whiskey neat._

But those weren't the words that came out of his mouth. She bit her lip as she indulged the memory - and the innuendo. She wondered if it was intended, or just part of his... act? Maybe he meant it subconsciously. To be honest, there were so many times where she couldn't tell if he was being dramatic or serious, and while that made him a more fascinating puzzle, it also usually left her head spinning so much it hurt.

When she'd put away her experiment and made her way to the Galley, Stork was there at the head of the table, and had blessed himself and the chair beside him with a small shot glass. He was opening the bottle, the wrapper on the table, and turned to look at her. He gave another one of those dangerous, exciting smiles. She could almost see the hat. Almost.

"I've never actually had this neat before," he said, putting a little emphasis on the word 'neat' – that or she just honed in on it, she wasn't sure – "but I've always heard very good things."

She sat down as he poured what looked like water into each cup. She gingerly picked up the cup and brought it to her face, but was surprised by the pungent smell.

"Wow... this stuff must be strong," she noted. She wasn't really a drinker, but Stork-as-Captain would ask her to partake with him on a rare occasion. That it followed them from Farside was curious. So far, it seemed to be the only thing.

"Isn't it just?" he asked with morbid fascination. She watched him hold his own before his face and inhale the scent, savouring it before downing the shot. He let out a growl as he felt the fire go down his throat. He closed his eyes, one hand replacing the glass while the other curled around the corner of the table nearest her. He tilted his head back with a quiet murmur and pleased smirk, his ears drawing back.

What little sip she took burned. She forced herself to let the drink linger on her tongue and actually taste it before swallowing - it was sour and hot, all the way down her throat, burning everything it touched. She backed the whole shot to get it done with, the whiskey scorching down into her chest before splashing in her belly and stewing there, simmering in her skin, making her blood rush a little bit more, and a warm blush came over her face.

She gave out a breath. "Wow."

Stork chuckled and poured himself another. She pushed her glass his way, and he refilled it as well. "I take it you like it?" he asked, handing it back.

"Perhaps a bit." Piper twirled her cup a little, watching it swirl around in the glass like they did at fancy wine testings. It was just something she did. "So... What're we talking about tonight?" she asked. She wondered what they would talk about without a Second Mate to plot against.

He shrugged. "Open topic." He gave her the look that she took for fondness as he brought the glass to his lips. "Your pick."

Her eyes went dark. "How about... Finn?"

His empty glass returned to the table. For a long moment, they didn't speak. After a while, Stork poured himself another, but he left it by the bottle, loosely crossing his arms and trying to disappear into the chair, hiding his face behind his curtain of hair.

"I think... it's probably for the best. For him, anyway."

She was expecting that. She sighed, and took a drink. She held the glass in her fingers. "What do you think is going to happen to us?"

The Merb looked away, pensive, his ears forever pinned back in an expression of dread. She found herself wanting to push back that curtain of hair so she could see his face, so she could really see what he was thinking. Instead, she restrained herself.

"I think it's safe to say that the Storm Hawks won't be quite the same," he said, finally.

She smirked. "I think that goes without saying."

The look he gave her was one requesting patience. "Junko, for one, is a bit lost without his friend," he continued, as if she'd said nothing. "And I don't think Aerrow is too hot about losing our marksman." He looked away, avoided the name. She took note of it.

But a small thought brought a tricksy smile to her face. "Do you think that means you'll have to... join us in the field permanently?"

His eyes widened in terror, and he shirked away. "Oh, Gods, no! I have to stay on the ship! Stay with the _Condor_. I mean, imagine if you guys get trapped somewhere, and I'm trapped there with you, instead of here where I can be of some use? We'd all be rather doomed..."

There was a dark amount of pleasure in his eyes that made her smile. So typical Stork.

She pondered. "Do you think we're going to have to find someone to fill in? What about Starling?"

He gave a little 'hmph!' "I highly doubt it. If she's even still around, long as we've been gone. And knowing she's joining as a replacement for someone else would be a bit cruel, I think."

Piper looked at her drink. It was a true point.

"The most likely result is we'll do without. At least for now." She looked up at him as he continued. "Aerrow is likely to wait for him to change his mind, but personally, I don't see that happening any time soon. Doubtless we'll befall some kind of doom without at some point that will require someone who's a ridiculously brilliant shot. If we manage to survive, Aerrow will either want to hire someone else, or else disband the Storm Hawks entirely." He shook his head. "In any case, it won't end well."

xxxxx

"Please... don't be mad at me," he almost whispered. Her gaze softened, but he wasn't looking at her to see. "I can't have you mad at me. If I do something that upsets you, you need to tell me. I can't read your mind all the time." _But I'd warned you._

Piper could scarcely see an eye move behind his hair. The black ship suit had been replaced by his Storm Hawks uniform – kept in disturbingly fine condition – and his Captain's hat lay in the corner. He was slipping away again. She'd hoped... She'd dared to hope.

But this was his answer to the question she hadn't had the heart to ask for so many years. Yes, he meant it. And yes, he _could _just throw it all away, like it hadn't even happened in the first place. She cursed at him, then. Threw something, though she couldn't remember what.

She spent the night in her room, crying. Aerrow had knocked on the door, asking if she wanted to talk, but she just screamed at him to "GO AWAY!" She wanted him to go away. He'd ruined... everything... And now nothing would ever be the same.

xxxxx

She reached for the bottle and slid it close. She stared at the glass for a second, then decided she didn't really care, and took a big swig from the bottle.

His arms released as his head turned to observe her with curiousity. The burn hurt. With a cough, she put the bottle back on the table, and wiped her mouth with a hand. She could feel the fire in her belly, and knew she was probably going to get royally pissed tonight.

Stork watched, waiting for his cue, but she merely relaxed in her chair.

He reached for the bottle and brought it to his own lips, imagining he could smell her breath upon it, and behind the curtain of hair, traced a tongue around the opening of the bottle, tasting what little bit of her she'd left. He pressed his lips to it like a kiss, and let it flow into his mouth, burning his mouth with a fire that would make him a bit looser... and hopefully help him sleep better. Indulge the infection just a little bit. It wouldn't fix the problem, but it'd hurt a little less.

He put the bottle back, and tried a faint, reassuring smile. "I suppose it does save on dishes, that way."

She let her lids droop, and looked to him. There he was again, with those snarky little comments. When the silence was too awkward, and he felt like he needed to say something, even if he wasn't saying anything at all. She murmured with a smile at that, remembering how baffled her mind had been when she'd first seen him washing dishes after they'd got back, pink apron and all. He caught the reaction with gratitude.

"I mean, I should have thought of it myself, you know," he added, taking the topic she'd approved. "Mind... I thought it would be rude to presume..." His eyes darted away, and he pulled his arms close again, this time glancing from his glass to her eyes, looking for a sign.

It took a minute for his words to permeate her lightly buzzed brain. And then something rather large and hefty managed to click through the fog.

She frowned. "Yeah..." She turned to face him. "You don't have a problem with sharing a bottle?"

He made a very odd sound. Like he was caught with a puzzle, and was pleased someone was offering their help. Even if he didn't believe they could do much for him. "Well, it is a pretty high proof... And we already share so much, you and I," he answered, looking up at her, still hiding behind his mane. His lips twitched. "Speaking of which, I caught you stealing a sip from my coffee the other day."

She giggled. Sober, she might have blushed. "Hehehe... You saw that?"

He gave her light glare. "How could I not notice?" He picked up his glass and downed it with another pleased growl, chattering his teeth together. "I can tell when you're having a rough morning. You leave some pretty obvious clues."

She put her head in her hand. "Oh? And what kind of obvious signs do I leave?" They actually never really talked about each other TO each other. She had always supposed it was because they already knew each other so well. And it had been so long since it was just the two of them... or even as few as four. Or five.

"It's a number of things. But I think that look of yours really gives it away," he said, that dangerous smile on his lips once more.

"Which look?"

"Well..." He tapped his fingers on the table – his stance was opening up again. "You have this..." His jaw moved without making a sound. He opened it, and closed it. He started again, but nothing. He tried once more, but only let out a frustrated sigh. "Look, I honestly don't know how to explain it," he said, grabbing the bottle.

She smirked, watching him drown the question. "What else do I always do that I don't know about?"

He gave a nervous, guttural noise that she supposed might have been a terrified, nervous laugh. It piqued her interest, but he didn't really share. Sensing a winning topic, she pulled the bottle out of his hands.

"Come on, tell me!" she said, holding the drink ransom. He seemed to wince as his face raised to watch it leave his grasp, instead nestling in her embrace. He gave a gulp, and bit his lips.

"I... I really shouldn't say."

"Too late!" she answered back. Usually, if Stork was avoiding a topic, it was for a reason. She couldn't help but hope it was because he was regretting his decision.

Like Finn.

She felt her buzz drop a bit again. Stork seemed to notice, and it pulled him out of his own internal conflict. Concern was in his eyes as he leaned himself over the table, his face turned toward her. Her grip loosened on the bottle, and stared into the liquid as she felt a kind of depression sink in. She let out a long, low sigh, and laid her head on the table, staring at the drink.

He looked at his own empty glass, and reconsidered this whole evening.

"I... probably shouldn't have bothered you," he started. "I'm sorry for... disturbing you. From whatever you were doing." His eyes darted to somewhere opposite her, but she smiled ever so slightly.

"You don't bother me, Stork," she answered, and he looked back to her as she called his name, almost involuntarily. "You've never bothered me."

He took her reassurance, and let his mouth line go from frown to flat. For a moment, he watched her, her curiousity fastened on the drink, and his curiousity fastened on her.

After a long while, he asked, "So... Have you ever had whiskey before?"

She blinked, and looked up at him, and he had the most intriguing look on his face. There was a bit of a question there, but mostly amusement. She looked back to the bottle, and then shook her head. "No, I guess I haven't."

He gave a knowing smirk – the kind he got whenever he pulled the age card on anyone on the _Condor_. He hadn't done it to her in so long, it was a scary thing to see again. Another sign of the new-old ways. "I think it's best if we don't let you have too much of it, then." He reached out to take the bottle from her grasp.

That mischief rose again, and her hold tightened, hugging it closer. The action for some reason unsettled him, and he withdrew. She sat up and faced him squarely. She pointed an accusing finger at him. "You still haven't answered my question."

He shrunk into himself, grimacing, his hands held before him in a natural defense. She swirled the finger and brought it closer and closer to him, until finally she touched him on the nose, with a little 'boop!'. He blinked, partly at the invasion of personal space, and partly at the uncharacteristic action. She withdrew the hand and once more took a swig from the bottle, giving a satisfied sigh.

Stork was pretty sure he had created a monster. Not that this was the first time... He scrunched up his face, wondering how best to deal with this situation. He could always go tell Aerrow, but what would he say? I bought a bottle of firewhiskey, and Piper's taken to it a little too well? Well, he'd just make a remark about how he'd tried setting a rule against having alcohol on board in general, but the pilot had tossed it (almost literally) out the window, and that it was quite literally a bed of his own making.

He eyed the obviously buzzed navigator as she peered into the white whiskey, and debated on how responsible he felt like being this evening.

"I... really think we should stop drinking," he said, feeling the warmth and buzz starting to penetrate his own system. It was all because he'd mentioned Finn earlier. Aerrow's habit of encouragement had recently turned into a broken record of self-delusions and half-hearted reassurances, mostly directed to himself. It was starting to wear on everyone.

And then there was the 'dirty' comment. Stork buried his face in a hand. Oh, that had been such a stupid thing to say. So very, very stupid. He must be truly going mad... She'd infected him for sure. He was never going to get over it.

Piper looked up at Stork, berating himself for how the conversation had turned. She murmured. "You always do that..." she remarked, curious if her words were slurring by now.

She pulled him out of his reverie. "What was that?" he asked.

"That," she said, waving a heavy hand towards his general person. "You always blame yourself. Like it's somehow always your fault." She gestured loosely. "How was any of this your fault?"

He gave her a pointed look. "I _am _the one who bought the drink," he replied with forced patience. But there was a philosophical undertone there.

And again, it took a while, but it eventually fit into place. She blinked at him. "Is it... Finn, or... the coffee?"

Stork turned and looked her in the eye. In a way it was both. In a way, they were related. _Make it quick_, his eyes seemed to say. _Fast, like a bandage. Over and done with, without any more pain than is absolutely necessary._

She cocked her head. This was... the question he hadn't been meaning to ask.

"'Do you like it dirty?'" she said softly, going over the words aloud.

His ears perked, and he had a look of horror. "What did you say?" he asked, more from a need of clarification than deafness.

She gave him a smirk. "What you'd asked me earlier."

He gave a miserable moan and buried his face in his hands, but you couldn't see past his hair. "Gods, that had to have been the stupidest thing I've ever said in my entire life..."

She glowered at him. "I can think of stupider."

By the look on his face, that didn't help. "I really didn't mean that," he said quickly. "I meant 'neat', I really did. But I..." He gestured with empty hands and gave a noise of defeat. "I'm trying." He scratched the back of his neck, his ears drooping a bit with worry. He stared at the liquid courage for a moment, and then back at her. And with some kind of resolution, he took the bottle and chugged it. He got through four or five insanely large gulps before he finally withdrew and started gaping at the fire he'd just inflicted upon himself. He seemed ready weep, his hands clenching into fists that he shook in the air, before slamming them down on the table. He gave another growl, and glared at the bottle, daring it to try again. She raised a brow, then languidly let out a hand and retrieved it again.

"Do you feel better?" she asked, hearing the slur now. It killed her attempted sharp tone of voice

"I will be in a minute," he answered in a harsh whisper, his hands clenched as he felt the fire descend. She took another sip, and he finally released the tension with another groan, and melted into his chair, his hands on either side of the table. He knelt his head back, and she was surprised at the rare sight of his neck. She felt that stirring at the alien anatomy, and pressed the bottle against her lips, not drinking.

xxxxx

She must have been staring, because after a long moment, he cleared his throat.

She looked up at his face with a start, and his eyes were wide, questioning. He seemed to be asking her what was wrong with his neck that she stared so, if it was even something he could help. She blushed, and gestured toward him.

"I keep forgetting... but you guys are so different from humans. It's... kinda interesting."

Even he couldn't keep back the small smile that statement inspired. "Interesting?" he echoed, his eyebrows rising high in his mane. "Interesting how? Interesting good, or interesting bad?"

They were lounging in the bridge, and he'd stretched out over one of the pilot's seats. She'd recovered from the crash enough that she could walk a little, but she'd already done her day's lap around the _Condor_, his wiry arms on either side of her like a human- sorry, Merbian walker, providing support and an embrace to fall into if she needed it. And she had, several times. It was odd, touching him – he had a very contained sort of personal space, and was curious about when he let others invade it, and when he didn't. It had caught her as... 'interesting'.

She cocked her head to the side. "Just... interesting. Sometimes good. Occasionally bad."

His head returned to its usual, protective state, and loomed toward her, his upper body leaning toward her, despite him not leaving his seat. "How, interesting bad?" There was that dark, dangerous side to him – the kind that made her realise why he liked poisonous spiders and things – an affinity with his own kind. In fact, he wasn't unlike a python, braced for an attack if he might not like her answer.

And yet, she wasn't really afraid. He wouldn't have risked life and limb to rescue her if he had any intention to just kill her later. "Like... Merb cabbage," she said with a faint smirk.

It caught him off guard. He returned to his own space, and gave her a questioning look.

"Well... Like, you love the stuff, but it creeps the rest of us out," she explained. "Stinks to high heaven, and let's not try eating it." She gave a grin. "Your cabbage is like... Junko's cooking to the rest of us."

He glared. "I take high offense to that," he said darkly, but looked away more in thought.

"Or like... that you hate sweets, like cotton candy. Whereas we humans love it."

His eyes returned to her face, narrowed, but he didn't answer. He looked away again, accepting it for what it was – a bad interesting. _I see your point_.

She cocked her head. "But I was just curious because... I never really see much of your anatomy."

He blinked at her. Maybe she needed another blood replenisher. It didn't sound quite like Piper. "My... anatomy?" He tried his best not to take that in any other way than how she'd meant it. However it was she'd meant it. There was a good reason he always looked on the dark side - he was never disappointed. Or surprised.

"Yeah. Like your... green skin. Or..." She smiled. "Your little ears."

He glared, said ears rearing back. "There is nothing wrong with my ears," he said softly, almost growling.

"I didn't say there was," she said shrugging.

For a moment, he stared at her, defensive, not sure if she really meant any harm, or if they were just empty observations. He couldn't help it, but if she felt it was important enough to mention, it must be dire news indeed. He made a small 'hmm' and looked her over. She didn't look any paler than usual (which was expected after serious physical trauma), but he checked the time. "I think I'm going to go get you another blood replenisher. I'll be right back." In a flash he was out of the chair and at the other end of the room, his feet padding ever so slightly on the floor, easily audible without the sound of the engines. At the hatch, he looked back at her, watching her peer absently out the ruined window of the helm. It disturbed him – worried him – having her broken like this. Wrapped in blankets like some babe, sitting there where he could keep an eye on her. The ship, too. The hatch opened, and he slipped through, his eyes checking the overhanging wires to see if anything else had gone wrong since last he checked.

xxxxx

Side note: 'Firewhiskey' is a Harry Potter reference.


	2. Anatomical Differences: Part 1

This one-shot can be held on its own, but the point of his soft spots are an important part of my canon. Takes place during the show – not sure when, exactly, but definitely post-"Black Gorge". Likely still in the first season, though.

xxxxx

"GOIK!"

There was a crash and, grimacing, Piper finally relented and opened the hatch.

"Stork? Are you...?"

The Merb was on his back, his legs hanging in the air. At her voice, his head turned sharply - something that always unnerved her. It was so... Well, it just reminded her he wasn't human.

"Piper," he noted, and in an instant, he was standing before her, hands clenched together, that sheepish grin on his face. "Ah... Did I disturb you?"

She put a hand on her hip, letting the other, which was holding a book she'd just picked up on Atmosian history, hang to the side. "Stork, how could you not?" She entered the small room, one of his various little workplaces that no one else ever bothered to enter. "What on Atmos are you doing in here?"

On the table was a a pile of nuts and bolts, a few small tools, and a big chunk of something, but she had no idea what.

"Oh, you know me. Just... tinkering." He picked up the contraption, but it gave out a huge arc of visible energy, zapping him quite thoroughly, and he threw it back on the table, crashing to a wall once more.

"Oh my God!" she said, rushing to his side, dropping the book somewhere in the process. She reached behind his head - a weird experience with his greasy hair and two ears (which perked up at her approach), but couldn't... discern any blood. At least, it didn't seem wrong. Not that she knew the Merb's anatomy terribly well... He tended to have his own space. "Are you... okay?" She looked him over, but didn't see any damage. "Are you hurt?"

His breathing was fast, anyway, but he always seemed to be nervous about something, so she decided that wasn't something to worry about. His large eyes took her in with an expression she couldn't place. He tried to take a gulp of air, and finally swallowed. Ever so slightly, he seemed to be moving his face away from her, his big, yellow orbs never leaving her face. She leaned back onto her haunches, a hand on a knee.

"Can you speak?" she asked, descending into snark, a language she knew he understood.

He didn't speak, but nodded. He was definitely moving away. He slowly turned away from her, getting back to his feet, the green toes peeking out from his brown, leather wraps, the padding hardly making a sound on the floor. He busied himself with brushing off his outfit, hesitating as he covered his hindside, and Piper stood, too.

"What on Atmos are you working on in here?" she asked again, looking to the offending invention.

"I... I honestly don't know," he said, speaking finally, his voice a little weak. He cleared his throat, and returned to the table. "I made it late last night, fell asleep at my table." His voice was stronger, now. "I honestly don't remember what I was doing, and it's not very... kind to my... pokings." As if to illustrate, he'd picked up a random, long object with which to poke it, but the Merb's mistake bit back, making both of them flinch away.

"It seems dangerous," Piper said seriously. "I think we should get rid of it."

Stork gave one of his rare, warm smiles. "Ah, but if we got rid of everything dangerous, we'd have neither a crew or a ship."

He knelt down, observing it when he was at eye level, using his long neck to rotate around it without moving his body proper. It kind of gave her shivers to watch, both creepy and otherwise.

She quickly glanced about and found her book. "Well... You might be better off leaving it, for now. Maybe Junko can help later. He sure can take a..."

She blushed lightly, looking to him, and he grinned, catching her eye.

"A 'wallop'?" he asked, innocently.

She glared. "Shut up."

He chuckled darkly, but she just left the room, closing the hatch behind her before he could mock her any further. He watched her go, and didn't turn back to his invention until she'd left his sight. He held a finger near it, and the electrical field gave an arc. He grimaced, but held it, slowly retreating until it dissipated.

He hummed a thoughtful note. "The energy field is going down. Interesting." He stood back up, grabbing the previous poking object, and glanced at the door. After a moment, he heard nothing, and then touched it.

"G-g-gah-ah!" He was zapped back, but not as badly. He growled at it, looking to his rod, and made a hypothesis.

It was a bit crazy, but he wouldn't put anything past his subconscious. He was dangerous enough coherent.

xxxxx

"Alright, gang. Here's the deal."

As Stork joined the table from the helm (she was on autopilot and should be perfectly fine – and if not, he was nearby), Aerrow was going over the intel he and Finn had gathered while in port. Piper was already making notes about potential plans with their given supplies (not bothering to check those supplies, he noted - which tended to come back to bite her in the butt. Often. That would be Finn's doing) and making overly complicated battle tactics. Stork was trying to listen, but he had to confess that whlie his brain was registering and recording the spoken words, his conscious thoughts were... less intelligent.

It kept coming back to that tingling sensation he felt on his skin. Merbs had a couple of spots that were usually hard to get to, and yet Piper had a way of finding them - even by accident. Today she'd found another - he could still feel the touch of her fingertips, prodding at the back of his neck, into his hair, betwixt his ears - oh, right there. Right there between, under the ears. They were such an expressive part of his anatomy, it was natural they'd be sore at the place where they joined his head. And it only made sense that they'd be a sweet spot. But did Piper know how much of an effect that had on him?

Stork's eyes were darting around the console, like they usually did - because he was always thinking, plotting, planning, dreading. Five steps ahead, but this time he wasn't ahead of the march, he was in another room. He chanced a glance at Piper, who was smiling that, "_I know just the thing!_" smile. It sent a chill down his spine - because he knew that smile. He got it a lot (she made it a lot) and it usually ended up with an "I told you so" from him. And he did so love to complain.

He turned his head away, making sure his eyes didn't linger. Wouldn't do well to be caught staring at the navigator. It's not that it wasn't hard to do so, when he was locked up in this flying death trap with no one but her for company all the time. Even when the rest of the crew was on board, they both had an understanding of quiet, and on more than one occasion, she'd escaped to the helm for a bit of peace. They could share books and talk shop and not worry about being thought of as pretentious, because they were both intellectuals. She was a bit impractical in her methods - what was the term? Lawful good? He was certainly more chaotic. And evil, if he was honest with himself. Total opposites, but in many ways, total compliments.

But it wouldn't bode well to ruin an already testy union (and here he meant the Storm Hawks as a whole, not necessarily what relationship he may or may not have with the dark crystal magess) with the stresses and dramas that came with romance. Especially interspecies. It wouldn't do well at all. Not to mention the awkwardness of that naked moment...

He tried his best to make his frustrated sigh as silent as he could manage, his eyes glancing at the others to see if anyone had noticed. Piper gave him a smile - the "I know just the thing!" smile still. Finn looked at him with a bored, "_How much longer will he go on?_" before rolling his eyes and staring dumbly at Aerrow once more. Junko was rapt, and Radarr listening, but grooming a claw.

Then it was just him. Stork shifted his weight to the other foot as he tried to focus back on the conversation, his paranoia enough to get him off that track.

"...so Finn, I want you to check everyone's weapons for ammo. We want everyone stocked up. Junko, you arm the _Condor_. Piper, you..."

"...Make a plan of attack, already on it," she replied happily, holding up her writing utensil. Stork managed to hide his small chuckle.

Aerrow smiled, warm and soft. He really liked Piper. In a mating way, even. "Right. And Stork?"

Stork gave him his full attention.

"Let me know when we're in clear skies. Piper will plot the course."

That was hardly worth saying. "Right," he answered, anyway.

Pleased he'd done his job, Aerrow said another general word of encouragement, and left the bridge. With nothing else to do, Stork returned to the helm, checking the dials and read outs before placing his hand on the auto pilot switch.

"You alright, there?"

He'd just flipped the switch, and quickly flipped it back, turning to face her. "Beg pardon?"

Piper cocked her head to the side a smidge. She had a soft smile. That, "_You're not like other guys_" look.

Sometimes it was a good face, but other times it wasn't. It was getting harder to tell which was which. "You seemed a bit out of it in the meeting."

"How do you mean?" he asked, an eye glancing to the door absently. Who else had noticed, but said nothing?

Perhaps he wasn't as clever as he liked to believe. Just his luck.

"Well, Aerrow mentioned going to Terra Rex, and asked you for an approximate flying time. You answered him three days, but the only way to get there is by flying over the Black Gorge which I'm pretty sure you said you'd never do again," she said, as if pointing out a poker bluff by explaining that all of the aces were already on the table.

Stork very lightly glared. "We do have a couple velocity crystals, don't we?" he answered. It was another bluff.

She smiled. She caught it, but she wasn't going to ruin his fun quite yet. "True enough."

She turned to her maps, starting to plot a course, and Stork turned to the helm, feeling that prickling sensation creeping up on his skin again. He shut his eyes, feeling the fuzzies going from the nape of his hair, down between his ears, around to his jaw, down his neck and hugging that upper torso area that he so closely guarded. The ears buzzed most, but he could still just remember her arms grabbing him from behind, her hands clasping over that tender area and holding him, firm and hot and soft and irresistible - her murmuring sound of joy filling his ears as she held him for several seconds. He was so caught off guard, and even now he hadn't quite caught his balance.

"Stork?"

He blinked, catching himself, looking back at her. This time she was giving him a dubious look. He blinked again. "What?"

"You just did it again," she said.

He glared every so slightly, reproachful. "Did what?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Zoned out," she answered. "You said something about the Black Gorge, and I asked you to repeat yourself, because I wasn't sure that's what you'd said, and you didn't respond."

He blinked at her once more. "I did?"

She slowly nodded. He licked his lips and swallowed, nervously. Oh, this was getting bad. This was getting very bad. He ran a hand over his face, not sure what to do with this situation. He could bluff, but she'd already caught him not paying attention. A lie would make her suspicious, and she'd pay even more attention to him, and catch more of this. And every time she didn't something like this to him, it took him a lot longer to recover. It'd taken over a week to get over the Black Gorge Incident.

Without thinking, he stretched up a hand to that tingly spot on the back of his neck, right under the ears. His panick died away as his delicate digits soothed away his worries, and he just drowned himself in those happy feelings. It was so warm, and soft, and so right, and he hadn't been so relaxed in so long...

"STORK!"

This time he gasped, taking a defensive pose, his eyes darting around at the loud calling of his name. But it took a moment to realise it was only Piper. And she was standing there with horror and concern on her face.

Mostly concern, but the fear was that of the unknown. She took the pencil still on her hands and put it on the table with a quick pop. She marched right up to him, adamant, and pointed a finger at him threateningly.

"You tell me what's going on RIGHT. NOW." And with those last two words, she jabbed him in the chest.

He visibly melted, and was soon crumpled in a heap. Although his sigh was a euphoric one, Piper panicked.

"Oh my god, Stork! Stork, what's wrong with you?" she whispered, not sure what to do. One hand slipped behind his head, once more cupping that place just below his ears, and his eyes closed, a slight smile on his face. Another hand sat on his chest, shaking him a bit. It was WONDERFUL.

"Please, tell me what's wrong..." she pleaded, her voice on the verge of tears. He couldn't believe how lovely it felt to be touched, and lifted his own hands, his left reaching up, along her neck and cupping the bottom of her head as well. It wasn't the same, but close. Close enough. His right trailed from the hand on his chest up her arm, his breathing getting deeper, but also quicker, and he let out small sighs.

"Piper," he said softly, his eyes hardly open,his head rising, and his lips touched hers.

In shock, she froze, but he didn't seem to notice. He kissed her again, and he could scarcely feel her lips respond. The hand in her hair twisted ever so slightly, softly, gently, and she too visibly melted. She was definitely kissing back now, softly, and that second hand finally made its way to her cleavage. This part wasn't too far off, and she was even BROWN which made it even more so right. Under his palm he could feel her heart rate and breathing quicken, and he flicked a tongue between her lips, his animal instincts truly getting the better of him, and the hand in her hair tugged ever so slightly.

She let out the faintest of moans that was intoxicating. He broke off from the kiss, pressing gently to encourage her to move to his neck - the natural progression with someone of his species. But lips didn't meet his smooth skin. Instead, a strained voice spoke from that alcove.

"Stork?"

And just like that, the spell was broken. The warm fuzzies were still there, but the growing heat in his groin stopped dead. It was like someone had poured ice water into his gut, and the first place it hit next was his mind. His eyes stood wide, open, his grip tightening in both hands reflexively, the panicked 'fright' instinct freezing him solid.

"Stork..." she tried again, this time more irritated. "Stork, you're hurting me."

And after the horror, the action. His grip loosened at her nape, carefully untangling from her hair, trying to cause her no more pain, the other moving to his chest, removing her offending hands. He pushed her away, gently, his face turned away, certain tears were to come. He curled into a ball, one hand wrapping around his neck, the other guarding the back of his head - the two places she oughtn't touch, but had. He could feel the ache starting to set in, and scrunched up his face, knowing that he'd just doomed himself to a life of misery. Forever.

"Stork...?" Her voice was soft, worried. He felt a hand touch an arm, but he recoiled.

"DON'T." He stiffened, rolling a little more away from her, curling his feet close into his protective positive. "Don't," he repeated, softer, forcing himself to be kind. "There are things you don't understand..."

Piper stayed there, on her hands and knees, trembling at the taste of what he'd given here. "W-what?" she asked. "Sex? Like... I don't know anything about sex?"

If it was possible, he curled tighter. She felt offended. She wasn't an idiot. She knew... of. Things. She read a lot. If that counted.

And then she had a horribly awkward thought. "That is what that was, right?"

A small noise escaped from his ball. For a long moment, they sat like that.

Finally, Piper sighed, sitting on her butt instead of her knees. She could see him relax ever so slightly. "So... What does this mean?"

No response from the Stork-ball. She hadn't been sure what he'd say, and saying nothing was usually a good second choice. In his mind, anyway.

"Are we... A 'thing' now?"

He seemed to stiffen every so slightly, and then curled himself out of his ball, peering over his shoulder with dark eyes. He was still holding himself with his arms, even if they were coming down a bit, but he seemed to be judging, questioning. She decided it was best to be receptive, and waited for him to completely uncoil.

His ending posture was on his feet, crouched down, hands on his knees, and staring at her curiously, as if she'd gone mad. He didn't often make that face to her. To Finn and Aerrow, yes, but not to her.

He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it, trying to consider how best to respond.

What was he to say? _No, sorry, I didn't mean to grab you and try to take you here on the helm. It's not like you weren't enjoying it, so don't complain. God, it made me hot to hear you moan. Let's go back to my room? Or even best, Is there any way we can pretend this never happened?_

He was interrupted from these variously bad choices by the sound of her giggling. He looked up at her with a frown. "What?"

"You did it again," she said, smiling. It was... not a new one, but one she liked to hide. She got it when she was thinking about something, hiding in her own head.

He blinked. Was that a... "_I'm thinking about you, Stork_" smile?

There he goes, caught again. He hoped he could keep in touch with the present conversation – at least until this... situation got sorted out.

"What... did I say this time?"

She got a coquetteish smile. Oh, no doubting that one. Also new. "I asked you if you had been enjoying yourself, and you replied 'oh, very much'."

If Merbs could blush. Instead, the pilot hung his head in shame. He even sighed.

"Cat's out of the bag..." she teased.

He groaned. It was true. No way to get that cat back into its designated holding receptacle. Cats were notoriously tricky to work with like that. And at that, his mind thought of another -

Back on topic! "I must say, you... do have a habit of putting me in a spin," he confessed, deciding it was too late for pretending he had no feelings for his navigator. Even if his feelings were far more... primal than the romantic notions Aerrow had for her, it still complicated things. in fact, with some species, that complicated things worse.

She put her head on her head, and he tried his best to focus on the positive-negative design created between her cheek and her fingers. "So..." Her moving jaw made things more interesting. "Out of curiousity... How long have I been putting you in a spin?" It was curiousity and excitement, and Stork grimaced.

"A while, actually," he replied. "But... it's more because you have a habit of... touching places you oughtn't."

Perhaps not thinking, her eyes went straight to his groin, and he shut his eyes. It's true, humans were rather simple creatures.

"No, not there," he said, perhaps impatiently. "Merbs have more than one erogenous zone to worry about." He gestured to the area marked by his collarbones and sternum. "Here..." And here, he ducked his head to show between that sweet spot between his ears. "And here."

Fingers that weren't his own touched that spot, tenderly massaging the gentle scalp. He let out the faintest of sounds, and she seemed encouraged, and brought her second hand in. His hands had been caught in mid air, and hung there, uncertain, his whole body shut down but for the tiny happy noises that she kneaded out of him by rubbing that sensitive skin. When she got into massaging the ears, he actually gave a moan, and his head lowered itself into her lap, his hands falling limply at his side. After a wonderful (seemed like days of bliss) while, one hand slipped down his jawline, causing his whole spine to recoil ever so slightly, and her fingers trailed at his chest, making him moan, and melt into her arms, his own wrapping around her. She barely let a small laugh escape, with one hand stroking his chest, and another kneading his hair. The long muzzle nuzzled her, a hand coming forward to stroke her own chest before choosing a breast and caressing it, his mouth finding her -

Her fingers clenched into his hair and he withdrew from the breast. Flushed, but not terrified, he found himself on top of her, but it was obvious who had done who. He looked up at her, and she gently stroked his hair again, and his eyelids drooped, and he let out a happy sound.

She smiled, that "_Stork_" smile, and it made him smile, too. He arched himself up and gave her a good and proper kiss, his arms wrapped around her, one hand sliding up to her neck, while the other cradled a hip, her hands lightly holding at his sweet spots. It was a tender kiss, and she readily returned it. But as he broke off, found she was rather hungry.

He smiled ever so softly. "I'm afraid you've tasted blood, and now you want more," he murmured, just loud enough so she could hear. He lifted a hand to stroke around her ear, curious as to the reaction he'd get.

She closed her eyes - a good reaction. "I... suppose you could say that."

He rested his forehead on hers – odd to do with their different face structures, but not enough for it to be off-putting. Just different. "We... do have work to do," he said, although he really didn't want to do anything but continue this experiment. Maybe not here... Or maybe here. Either or. He wasn't picky. So long as he got to keep playing.

She sighed, and he could see she needed encouragement, too.

She took the hand from his hair – he bristled a smidge at her fingers disappearing through his hair - and brushed back her own. "Yeah, I know..." She let down the other hand, too, and he returned to his previous, crouched position, but this time much closer to her.

"We can always do this another time," he said, smiling. The fact that they could was already far more than he'd have ever hoped for. "I have frightful bad luck, and am therefore in no need to rush anything good that might happen to me."

At that, her face fell. He frowned, not sure what he'd said wrong. "What's wrong?" he said. And then bitterness. "It's happening already, isn't it?"

She laughed, sadly, and reached up to wipe a tear from her eye. Stork reached up and brushed away another - they were cool to the touch.

"No, it's not bad," she reassured him. "It's... it's good."

He gave her a dubious look. "Crying is good?"

"No, it's just..." There was his smile again. "That's probably the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me."

He blinked. "What? 'Don't worry, we can always shag later'?"

She laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. He didn't flinch or react. But she kept her hand there, and then gently slid it to his collarbone. He gently nuzzled into it, but his eyes never left hers.

"Do we really have to work now?" she asked finally.

He gave her a wicked smile. "One doesn't really HAVE to do anything," he answered. "But at the same time, we hold a moral obligation and a responsibility to our fellow crewmates. And since we at least need to get a course plotted and going, yes, we really have to work _now_." He reached a hand to hers, and gently removed it, giving it a kiss before returning it to her person. "You got plot, and I'll go pilot. And when we get into open air, Aerrow wants a report."

At the name, she looked away - from impatience, embarassment or what, he couldn't tell - "...and when Aerrow gets his report..." he continued, pausing, waiting for her to turn her hazel eyes back on his. "We'll tell THEM to be on Bridge Duty. And then you and I can go romp about as you like."

She smiled big. "Where no one can see us, that is."

"That is entirely up to you," he replied. He blinked. "What?"

She shook her head, getting up to her feet. "Oh, Stork..."

"What?" he demanded.

She said nothing, sighing instead. He gave a small huff, but decided not to question her any further. The fuzzy tingles were alive and well, but they'd been satiated for a bit, and at least now, Stork could concentrate. On work. For now.

xxxxx

Sidenote: It's a little subtle, but the experiment Stork is tinkering with in the first bit is a reference to Gune's experiment in _Titan A.E._ – he was the science officer of the _Valkyrie_, and throughout the film tinkers with a tiny contraption he made in his sleep. He doesn't know what it does, but knows that he used a particularly unstable chemical in it, and it has a shiny red button. It's a source of much puzzlement and temptation. Stork doesn't seem the kind to work IN his sleep, but very tired, perhaps. "_I've tasted blood and I want more_" is a line from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, where the singing party is a virgin who's... just ceased to be a virgin.


	3. Anatomical Differences: Part 2

This still takes place during the show, a short time after the first chapter of "Anatomical Differences".

xxxxx

It was quiet aboard the _Condor_. Finn had been locked in his room with his music – semi-involuntarily – and Junko was tinkering with the skimmers in the hold – they needed a bit of attention after that last battle, and Aerrow had flown out on a grocery run. Content that "the Finn" would no longer be a burden on her nerves, Piper made her way to the bridge.

As was expected, Stork was manning the helm, cruising absently and listening to the radio for a new errand with which to occupy the crew. While he didn't speak to her as she entered, he did glance her way when she stopped beside him.

"He's shut up good," she reported. "You were right about the sound-proofing. Makes a world of difference."

He gave an evil smirk. "I'm right quite often, and yet people are always surprised." She smirked back, and the two held the shared joke for a pleasant moment. She stepped past the helm, looking out the glass at the bright blue sky.

"Not a lot of clouds today," she noted.

"Not a lot of wind, either," he replied, not liking the tone in her voice. "It's a very quiet day." The remark hung in the air, resembling the awkward start of an uncomfortable conversation far too much for his tastes.

"Where's our heading?"

"Atmosia, at present. There's always business that needs done at the capital." She nodded. He eyed her, curious.

Eventually, she came around, and his brilliant, yellow eyes followed. She joined him at the helm, and looked him in the eye. "Would you like a back scratch?"

He blinked, startled. The nervous pilot quickly checked his controls, but the shock hadn't traveled down his arms. He tilted his head away, eyes narrowing at her. "Back scratch?"

"You know," she said, holding up her hands, fingers curled in claws, clenching and unclenching in the air. "Back scratch."

He... didn't know what to say to that. He shrugged, flustered, bewildered, and a bit unsettled. "Why?"

She smiled, a longsuffering, amused smile. The "there you go again" smile he got in the face of his paranoia. It had grown to resemble affection lately – that, or he was imagining it. "Why not? You always seem so... stressed. I figured it might help."

He eyed her dubiously. It had been two weeks prior that the Incident with the Invention (which later led to another Incident on the bridge) had led to her finding out about his... well, "happy spots" was how he'd always known them. Erogenous zones, if one was to be technical. In defense, she hadn't known any better, but it was knowledge he would have rathered never be shared – he never liked anyone having an advantage over him, real much more so than imagined. The awkward affair had ended with the pair slipping back into their routine and, after the report had been given, he'd put the _Condor _on auto pilot and slipped to his room. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but she hadn't followed. Two hours of waiting, and she never came. At dinner, her only response to the afternoon's events had been a sad smile – one he hadn't really seen before, and so, couldn't place. He'd hidden his face to hid whatever decided to show itself there, and decided that "the best course of action" in this situation was apparently to pretend it had never happened. So, yes. He was disturbed by this... seemingly innocent suggestion. He sighed.

"Do you... prefer the bridge?" he asked, admittedly bitter.

Her shoulders drooped, her patient facade dropping. "Stork, I'm just trying to help. You obviously need something. I know we're different, but we're not _that _different." She tried to appear hopeful before his dark glare.

In truth, she'd been disappointed when he'd hid and run – the sound of his voice whispering so soft in her ear, and the words, '_You've tasted blood, and now you want more..._' still gave her shivers to think about. But he'd said he wanted to take it slow, so she would go as slow as he liked.

Stork frowned at her. Women made no sense. Even humans, it seemed. Why did things have to be so complicated? Did she want to do this or not? Or was that her way of saying, '_I'll try, but I reserve the right to freak out about you being such a... freak_.'

Sure, she'd said "different", but that was just being nice. Still. A cruel concession was far better than a kind lie.

Piper watched him set the auto pilot and turn to her, his eyes still not sure, but his posture began to unwind. He seemed to grow right before her eyes, his legs and back straightening, and even his head was held high.

_Should I really do this? _On the one hand, willing party. Certainly beat lonely nights. The fresh love would be terribly disruptive to ship business, however. No one took on a new romance without sacrifices to sleep, food, body, time...

_The pilot and the navigator? The _Condor _wouldn't fly for weeks_. He thought of the safety of the crew, his awful luck leading inevitably to a Cyclonian attack in the middle of – well. It would kill his response time, to put it nicely. And while he was busy doing otherwise, no one was standing watch. Junko was an unreliable watch stander, always slipping off for a snack, and was the one asking for direction, not giving it. Aerrow would get restless and call for 'training', and Finn...

Stork sighed, deflating. The same argument reared its ugly, logical head for the umpteenth time. He'd stop counting a long time ago. The fact of the matter was, this ship couldn't fly – literally or otherwise – without them. The Storm Hawks would be sitting ducks while the two of them sorted out their passions, not to mention the inevitable falling out. But that bit he'd rather keep an abstraction.

"Uhmm... Actually, I think I might be getting a rash," he said softly, lifting an unsteady paw to scratch at the back of his neck.

To his surprise, she glomped him, pressing her torso on his – oh, she was good – and craning her neck over his, her fingers invading his ship suit, narrowed eyes investigating his claim.

"I'm calling bullshit, Stork," she answered firmly, removing herself to glare at him and put her hands on her hips. On the Merb's part, he backed into the controls, a green hand catching the helm. His heart was racing at a mile a minute, the thrill of panick mingled with arousal coursing through his veins. He shut his eyes and looked away, another hand finding another control, and he tightened his grip on them both, telling his mind, "think of the _Condor_, think of the _Condor_, think of the _Condor_..." and all of the crew who would be doomed to a certain demise if he let his body get the best of him. _You're a Merbian! Mind over matter! You are a highly sophisticated creature, capable of so much! _But that was a bad argument – long ago, someone else had beaten much of his self-worth out the window. In fact, much of the temptation came from the flattery that she was returning his feelings, even if she didn't understand the consequences (as an elder, it was his responsibility to be the strong one), as well as the alluring touch of another. Particularly one who didn't even treat them with respect. In a way, the chaos was tremendously exciting, but if she kept playing with fire, she was going to get burned. Faithful may be the wounds of a friend, but he didn't want to be that kind of friend.

Piper growled. The cowering Merb winced, lowering his head, but he didn't look at her, or even opened his eyes. "What are you so afraid of, Stork?" she snapped.

He let out a spare whimper. "W-what am I _not _afraid of?" he asked. He let out a humourless laugh.

She scowled. "You are so...!" Her hands turned into fists as she fought from saying anything. She didn't want him as an enemy. Or to get in a fight so... early in the relationship.

_Am I really thinking like that? _She caught herself. She was. Oh god, she was.

"Stork..." she said softly.

He stiffened, and one eye, twitching, slowly opened. She held out her hands in a gesture of peace-giving. He leaned away from it, seriously considering hiding behind the helm, and running out of the bridge if she made chase. He could lock himself in his room for a while until she went away, stomping and cursing as she did, like when Finn pissed her off. Yes, he'd seen her get angry plenty of times. The attempt at peace was never sincere – it was a trap to lull you into a sense of false security. He'd seen it before.

"L-look. It's best that we don't, okay?" he said, slipping behind the helm, the controls of the ship separating them. "I mean, even if this _did _work out – assuming we didn't kill each other in our first fight, or find out that all of this built up sexual tension fizzles out after a few weeks – imagine how helpless the crew would be without you! Or me, for that matter. I mean, who would fly this thing? Finn? None of them have any tactical awareness – well, except Aerrow, but that's only in battle, and you know as well as I do that this place would turn into a pigsty in a matter of _hours_. Atmos needs us, the Storm Hawks can't be brought down by a silly little thing like chemistry!" It had started out pleading, but by the end, he was frantic, spitting out the words in a desperate attempt for her to hear SENSE, and to think past her libido. It was hard – _damn_, it was hard, with her touching him like that and looking the way she did, long and thin and brown and snarky as hell. Oh, there were so many things he loved about her, and things he hated about her, and _loved _hating about her. Like how she could be so clever and resourceful, but at the same time couldn't comprehend why her incredibly complicated plans never worked. No matter how many times he said, "_too many variables_," she did it anyway – in fact, she started to just stick her tongue out at him. He tried to help, but she could do _everything _by herself. In a way, her stubbornness and independence were both her biggest flaws and most attractive features. She was intelligent, well-learned – absolutely brilliant. So brilliant, so why couldn't she see how bad an idea this was?

Sure enough, there was that cold hatred again. Ooh, it sent a delicious shiver of fear down his spine. She took hold of the helm – oh, that stance. So bold and sure and... god, this was so not working. This was making it far, far worse.

He'd heard very good things about make up sex.

With a wail, he dropped to his knees. "Please, Piper!" he said, not seeing her face go from anger to confusion. "I can't take this! You're driving me mad!" He held out his arms in a dramatic display of his frustrations. She couldn't even think of what to say, but cocked her head.

"Stork... What the hell is wrong with you?"

He finally looked up at her, and she had that befuddled, amused... _Stork _smile again. His breath caught, and he knew right then and there, that he was done for.

xxxxx

Sidenotes: Stork makes a variation on Jack Sparrow's comment in _Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest_ on "You were telling the truth!" "I do that quite often. And yet, people are always so surprised." Also, "faithful are the wounds of a friend" is scripture – Proverbs 27:6.


	4. Crash

This scene happens post-"Rise of Cyclonia". The crew of the _Condor_ have made it to the Farside and after a while cruising, get found by a band of raiders. This is how the crew gets separated, and is the set up for Dark Side.

xxxxx

We were losing. And losing _badly_. Sure, they weren't as souped up as Master Cyclonis' Nightcrawlers, but I'd be lying if I said that Farside technology wasn't _years _past Atmos. They weren't using raw crystals, but a kind of living crystal, as best as I could wager, like someone had cracked the code of the matrix, and could meld them into whatever state of matter they desired – even in spirit. Accordingly, even the Joe Schmoes had weaponry that made ours look medieval in comparison.

The _Condor _had already taken serious damage. I could hear her howling in pain as she was battered by an array of fire from the small party of skimmers that zoomed about us. The engines were threatening to overheat – we weren't going to be able to take much more of this, and still have a ship.

"Guys," I warned through the speakers, my voice pleading, "the _Condor _can't take much more of this. I'm seriously about to lose her!" I was already fighting to keep her aloft, and could feel the power of the engines failing – she was slipping in altitude, and I think twenty minutes was a very optimistic guess at how much longer I could keep her in the sky.

"Hang on, Stork," Aerrow responded, sounding sure. He always sounded sure when his battle face was on. He had a dangerously one-track mind like that. He still hadn't learned from Arygyn. "Just hang on a bit-"

And at that moment, another scattering of fire peppered the hull, breaking the barrier that kept me from the unknown atmosphere outside my ship. I gave a yell, ducking behind the helm, until the skimmer passed.

"Aerrow, I'm taking serious damage up here!" I shouted into the radio. I was looking at the engineering dials, and they were not reading very pretty. I gulped, and corrected that twenty minutes to five. Outside the ship, the rest of the crew were skirmishing miserably. Piper flew by, evading an attacker, and I watched as he threw something at her, just as she flew out of my sight.

My eyes widened. I stared, in shock, and listened to the radio.

There was nothing. Not even static.

"Um, come in?" I cried, panicking. "Aerrow, Piper, someone! Answer me!"

A second later, but I still heard nothing.

We'd lost communications.

I let out a yell of sheer terror, and I could hear the engines giving one last desperate moan before sputtering. I grabbed the helm, and turned her to at least find Piper, make sure she'd survived that last attack.

To my horror and dismay, she was flying below me, whatever projectile the other had thrown sticking out of her in an unseemly way. I am sure I went white, as the bastard went on to pepper her blades with fire. I saw more than heard her cry out as the heliscooter gave a gut-wrenching jolt and started to fall, black smoke trailing behind her.

I set the ship to lunge. A glance at my dials said it was eventual that I was going to fall, and I decided I'd at least catch Piper rather than let her fall to her doom alone. Teeth gritted, I focused on nothing but her trajectory, diving down and down and down, the engines starting to growl as they gave way, and the controls protested with snaps and sparks at the abuse I was putting on the old carrier. She hit a cloud barrier, but I kept going, almost certain I wasn't breathing, or if I was, they were the shallowest breaths I'd ever experienced.

I broke through, and quickly scanned for Piper, and found I'd dived lower – quickly, I pulled back on the helm with a groan, the rudders banking her enough to catch the falling Storm Hawk with a sickening crunch (though not as sick a crunch as it could have been), and I kept pulling. Nose up, I knew I wasn't going to gain any altitude, but I wasn't going to crash land with my navigator on the outside. I watched her slide down the gangway, leaving a dark red smear that made me gag, but I managed to hold it back enough to watch her disappear before flipping the switch that closed the hatch.

I released the helm, and the ship gave a jolt. She jumbled back and forth before beginning a nose dive, and I then grabbed the controls again, just enough to keep her falling flat before pulling the emergency drag.

I eyed the landscape. It wasn't magma, fire and stalagmites like the Wastelands, but just as barren. I steered toward a mountainside, my eyes sweeping everything before – there! I spotted an overhanging, and aimed for it, flying low, before kicking the backup boosters, hoping it would be just enough to keep me aloft and –

In a horrifying test of fate, I pulled the boosters, and launched the docking claws. Claws met rock, and the ship gave a sickening lurch – I held tight on the helm, my feet gripping the floor as best I could – before rocking in her makeshift perch. My ears finally registered that there were alarms were blaring everywhere, but they died one by one as the ship shut down. I could hear the moan and groan as the engines shut off, but the antigravity crystals held.

I heaved a heavy sigh. We wouldn't have a repeat of the leechers Incident.

At the thought of crystals, I felt my ears perk, and "Piper" slipped out of my mouth before I was out of the bridge, down a ladder, and in the hangar bay.

It was a mess, crates strewn about everywhere, but leading from the doors, a path of dark something – I knew some of it was blood, and doubtless engine oil, but hoped the ratio was in Piper's favour. My eyes quickly followed the trail until it came to a pile of boxes, and I quickly shoveled them out of my way, finding her there.

She was moaning, her eyes drowning in tears, as her hands shook. A rod of some kind had pinned her thigh to the heliscooter. My eyes widened as I realised that she wasn't dead yet.

"Piper, you need to stay still," I warned, and quickly jumped away. She didn't really answer.

_Where was it? _I thought quickly to my last time using it – it'd been a few days, ago, and I'd put it...

I hurried to a door, opening it, but everything was trashed, all over the place. With a growl, I dug through the pile, not reacting as blades and rough edges scratched and tugged at my skin. At last, I pulled out my prize, and returned, my own dark blood starting to shine on my hands.

It took a couple tries, but I got the saw going. As I approached Piper, she started to scream, her hands above her face.

"STORK! NOOO!" she screeched, but it wasn't like she could move.

"Move your head," I ordered, a disturbingly serene voice, and she did so, ducking fearfully from the fast-flying blade. I brought the saw to the back or the heliscooter, the sparks flying and catching us both. She was crying, panicking, shouting, but I kept on. Piece by piece, I sawed the heliscooter away from her, moving her broken limbs where she couldn't, until it was only the pole.

"Piper," I warned, "This is really going to hurt. So I'm going to restrain you." I did so as I spoke, tying her hands behind her so that they didn't get in the way, and she began to weep again. "Please... Forgive me." I put a foot to her hip to hold her still, and tried to keep the pole as firm as I could, and sawed away it. She screeched like a banshee, and I bit my lip as I forced my eyes to watch the projectile that was covered in an almost black coat of her life, protruding from her leg. Her hands twitched uselessly behind her, until I'd finished the front, and had to go to the back. Her howling was beginning to fall on deaf ears as I started the other side, and before long, the pipe was as short as I felt safe cutting it.

"You're going to need serious treatment for this," I said, trying to keep up this calloused face I'd found somewhere between Merbia, the Wastelands, and here. I had no idea where, and how I'd come upon it, but it was certainly useful. I tried to tell myself that it was just like fixing skimmers. Only they screamed. The look on her face was killing me, and I did my best to focus on the task at hand. "I'm going to need to remove this. I'm taking you to the sick bay – try not to move."

She was weeping again by now, but I pulled an arm over my shoulder, one hand gripping her hip, and another slipping under her knees, doing my best to keep the injured leg firm. It was awkward, with her strange body structure, but we managed. She wasn't exactly light, but I'd carried heavier. I made my way through the halls to the lift, the iron-rich smell of blood poisoning my nose, but I fought the instinct to faint. Carefully balancing, I jabbed the button with a toe and the hatch opened. I quickly clambered inside, and repeated the trick.

In my arms, Piper had her face buried in my shoulder. Her weeping was covering my ship suit in warm tears, and I could feel my skin puckering ever so slightly at the salty intake. I swallowed, already starting to taste it, and could smell my own stench of panick reinstating itself. I could feel the reality of what was happening beginning to sink in, and immediately thought of mechanics. I was cataloging what we had in the sick bay that I could use for this situation – we always had tons of replenishing things on hand (considering how often we get beat up, it's a necessity), so lack of fluids wouldn't be what kills her. More like infection, but no one knows how to keep a wound clean better than me. The question of whether the room was actually sterilised or not flitted through my head, but I determined that it was something I could fix easily enough.

It was enough to keep my mind busy for the long moments in the lift. I'm sure that giving her some verbal comfort would be ideal, but I couldn't get in a sympathetic mood at the moment. We could do that later, and quite frankly, she was the better one for giving comfort.

When the rest of the crew made it back, she'd need to be in one piece. As officer on the watch, that was my duty, to protect the crew, and with my pilot duties pretty much taken care of, she was my top priority.

There were a couple loose potted plants splayed on the floor, but I could deal with that later. I trudged through the corridor, paying no mind to the coarse grounds mingled with the carpet underfoot, and made my way to the sick bay, doing the balance-jab trick yet again. I hadn't realised how often I'd practised the trick when lugging boxes around the ship, nor imagined how it would be life-savingly useful one day, but as always, I was grateful I had.

When I entered the sick bay, I was pleased to see it had actually done rather well. The cupboards were shut right, so there wasn't wasted medicines and broken glass on the floor, and Piper had done a good job of keeping it mechanically clean. Considering how no one used this room, I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised, and yet I was, pleasantly so. It certainly smelled clean, which was a delight, and I pulled out a fresh cover for the medic's bed – I must be in much better shape than I thought. Then again, it could be the adrenaline.

With a sniffle, Piper gave a tiny, weak little moan.

"We're in the sick bay, I got you," I said softly. Now that I'd made it (and been a bit cheered up by one less thing to do) I could be more doctor, less mechanic. Although, the difference wasn't likely much, I thought. Docs had to be just as methodical and heartless from time to time...

I carefully set her down on the bed, and when I backed away from her, I was horrified by the pure amount of dark, warm, wet and sticky that was covering my ship suit.

I shook for a long moment, closing my eyes. Engine grease. Engine grease that smelled of... blood. But mostly grease, I lied to myself. It was a terrible lie, and I knew it, but something in the back of my head smacked another, and my feet started to move towards the cupboards.

"Fix it," I said. "Fix it, and she'll be fine."

I gave a sick gulp, a shaking hand reaching up to the cupboard door and opening. Like I'd thought, a good number of blood and energy replenishing tonics – I grabbed a bunch. Ah... tools. I looked down, pulling open a drawer. This one had sharp things. I carefully picked one, each individually bagged, and tried not to look at it too much as I set it on the table. I grabbed a needle, as well. And a bobbin of thread – I cut a length. Likely too much, but I'd err on the side of caution. Another drawer had dressings – I pulled out a bunch of those. Another, gauze and sterilisers. I helped myself. There was a tray nearby, and I put everything on there, trying to keep it in a sensible order so I could get to it later. I tried to steady my breathing, my grip tightening around the tray, feeling my shoulders tremble. I can do this, I lied to myself. I can. I can fix this. I can help...

From behind me, Piper let another sound, this one a long, drawn out moan, mixed with a weep. It was squeaky and heart-wrenching and full of pain. I felt my breath catch, and I'm sure I felt tears come to my eyes. My throat caught, and for a horrible moment, I was choked. Her piercing shrieks of pain returned to my mind, and I gave another swallow, forcing myself to take this tray and set it at the bedside.

Piper was a mess. All of her was sweaty, and along with the usual battle scrapes and scratches, there was the sickly projectile still sticking from her thigh. I could hear an instinct telling me to gag at the sight of the flesh, clutching the intruder not unlike roasted barbecue on a spit, only the sauce was blood. Reminding me again why I can't eat that stuff. Something cold and calculating clicked in, and instead of Piper, I saw only this pipe which needed to not be here – it had missed her bones, but I was going to have to cut down to the pipe and pull it out, then stitch it back together. Impalements were dangerous – usually loss of life was not because of the injury itself, but because of blood loss and shock. Or infection. I had to be quick and careful, and make sure she didn't bleed out when this proverbial cork was removed. I swallowed again, feeling my mouth go dry, and turned back to the supplies.

I fetched a rag and set up a bowl of hot water. Instead of thinking, I just watched the waterline rise, retrieving, threading and knotting the needle as I did. and then returned it to my station. I cut away the fabric and cleared away the blood that was around the wound, and felt a bit of pleasure when I had only the true danger zones left. They were still oozing quite a bit, but I wrapped some fabric around it to reduce. It took time, but I eventually had a good dam of sorts going. I opened the scalpel, but set it aside as Piper once more caught my attention with a fearful sound, and I found some restraints.

"Can't be doing that, Piper," I said, anticipating her body's instinct to fight the pain as a priority. I bound her arms to the bed – perhaps too tight, I thought, but the skin wasn't puckering so much, so it would likely be more unpleasant than dangerous. Long as she stayed still.

I returned to the task at hand, and took a grip on the scalpel. Her blood-curdling screams fell on death ears as I dragged it through the flesh, joining the two holes. Dark red life tried to escape, but I caught it as well as I could. I tossed the collection of red to the side as I worked, and eventually saw the pipe in all its glory. I shimmied it out (not without plenty of outcry from my patient) and tossed it aside. I could clean later – right now I wanted it out of my sight. I sopped up what I could, and joined the flesh like a grotesque patchwork. I threaded the needle through, my jaw shaking just slightly as my eyes focused only on making each stitch as careful as I could. When I'd finished, I dumped the water, setting up a new bowl.

The crisp white was transparent on the silver, but clouds of red formed anyway. My own, usually green hands were black and bloodied, but my mind only focused on the colours. At the right height, I shut it off, returning.

Piper said nothing. I tended to anything else bleeding, wrapping and covering with fresh dressings after the blood had been wiped away, and the wounds sterilised, unbinding her as I treated any injuries I'd created in removing the heliscooter from her person. Her breathing was ragged, and tears still trailed from her cheeks, but she said nothing.

I didn't say anything either, but pushed the tonics into her lap. Her shaking hand tried to open one, but her fingers couldn't get a grip. I took it from her, opened it, and returned it. I did the same for a second, and she gasped at me, in what I think was an attempt at a grateful smile.

I couldn't manage one either. My lips were a grim line, and I turned away, looking down again at my hands.

My fortitude was at its end. I quickly made my way out of the room, slamming a switch, and when the hatch closed shut, my body hit the floor.


	5. Tenderness: Part 1

This takes place during Piper's recuperation from "Crash". The first part is from her perspective.

xxxxx

We collapsed in a heap on the floor. I leaned against him, and his strong, steady hands held me. He readjusted himself beneath me, and his arms locked around me.

I could feel his breath on my shoulder. "Piper, are you alright?"

I nodded, swallowing. "I-I'll be fine," I panted. I closed my eyes, reminding myself to take smooth, slow breaths. In... and out. He watched, and listened, his head craning over my shoulder and looking at me sideways.

He brushed the long, dark waterfall of hair away from his face, fastening it behind an ear. It threatened to burst out of its holding, but stayed. "Just let me know when you're ready."

I nodded again, fighting the urge to bite my lip. Instead, I grit my teeth, knowing that biting would do me no good. I mean, it helped – the distraction from the pain always helped – but... I just got another pain elsewheres, and something else was wounded. I felt so useless... and I'm sure hurting myself even more wouldn't be a good way to show my gratitude.

My caretaker and guardian pressed me against him gently, so my back would be supported. I could just sit without straining, even as I imagined how much the consistent stress must be taking a toll on his spine. It was one of those things you didn't really think about, until you had to deal with it every day, time and again. A little sacrifice that seemed like common sense, but after a while, it must have been a burden.

But I couldn't bring myself to apologise. Again.

He'd been so angry... He hadn't done or said anything to me, but he'd disappeared for a while – I guess to keep his thoughts together. Clenched fists that stayed close to his side. I wondered where he'd gone, and what he'd done while he was alone, much like I never had before. Because, I knew he wasn't on bridge duty. Not when I was sitting alone in the bridge. Alone in the bridge of a crashed ship. Alone, and helpless. Scared, and frightened of what might happen to him when he was away from me. What would happen to me if he disappeared for good. If he just decided that I was too much hassle, and he left me to the beasts that must prowl this place. What he was doing while he risked my safety, what was so important that he left me alone. Injured, and fragile and helpless.

What about my apology had angered him so, that he'd abandoned me for a short time?

It was a short time, but a time in which I went from startled, and then angry, to terrified. My voice caught in my throat, vanished like he'd taken it with him. It takes abandonment like that to truly appreciate being alone.

To truly appreciate what it was like... to be Stork.

The horror of abandonment. The vulnerability of separation. The disturbing quiet of a dead ship. The bones and wounds of a destroyed vessel decaying all around you. I imagined I could feel her, then. Lying in a weary faint, her body limp and breathless. Moaned her life away, until the last lungful of air slipped out of her lips, the glass of her broken face shattered all over the floor.

Stork had swept some of it out of the way, so there was a walkway from the bridge to other parts of the ship, but he'd placed me in one of the pilot's seats – keeping me in his sanctuary. When he came back, his voice was quiet, and he didn't look at the wound. Smiled at me, as if I wasn't injured. And it scared me. I tried not to mention it, tried not to bring attention to it. Took the sandwiches he held out to me, a weary apology for his absence. Also, a kind of excuse. I took the meal and ate, quietly, observing him and the ship in a new, darker light.

Here we were again. It was dark in the passageways. Even with all the hatches thrown open (I remembered hearing him grunt as he forced them all open manually, one by one) so that the light from outside could spread out, it was still shady, and a little spooky. Like the ship was a ghost of her former glory. As we ventured through her skeletal frame, I became more disturbed by the vessel, and more appreciative of Stork's love for her.

I opened my eyes, and looked to him. His eyes were closed as well. In fact... I think he looked very tired, now that I looked at him. His long face seemed gaunt, particularly as the shadows accentuated his strong cheekbones. I hadn't really noticed before, but he did seem rather ghastly. Having skin the green of disease would have that effect on you, I suppose. But there was an eerie rightness about his appearance, in this setting, in this situation. Like he was exactly the kind of person – or beast – you'd expect to find inhabiting the hull of a dead ship. Like some scavenger, who was only at peace with death and destruction – an odd combination of doom and gloom and... a dark beauty that I'd never taken the time to appreciate. Some called it 'emo', but... with Stork, it just seemed right.

I took a deep breath, calming myself. I imagine I saw his mouth twitch ever so slightly into a smile. Or a smirk. Or the shadow of one.

I think I saw his eyes twitching under his eyelids. I saw his head lull forward just a smidge. I could feel his grip lose hold, and the pressure behind me start to slowly retreat.

"Stork?"

Instantly, he straightened, his back firm against mine once more, the hands again at my arms. His ears bounced once, and that head was tilted toward me, a large yellow eye looking directly into mine.

"Mmm?" The question wasn't spoken, but a soft murmuring the I felt more through his chest than from his throat. The dark markings that lined his eyes lowered again, but he looked to me, patiently.

Tiredly.

"Stork, you look really tired," I finally said, managing a soft smile.

He made a small sound. I think it was a kind of laugh, but it came out as a bit of a sniff, or a snort. He regarded me with a smile – a reassuring one, but his eyelids still drooped.

"When you're ready, we can go on," he murmured out of the side of his mouth.

His head slipped out of my line of sight, then, but as he inhaled a deep breath, I could feel it in my hair. He let it out, and the hands at my arms did slightly stroking little things. Little reassurances that he did.

I wasn't sure when he'd started... but it was the first time I'd noticed.

Or noticed that the pressure on my back was met with his, but at my hips, I could feel his legs, drawn tight against me. That with his arms around me, I was quite literally wrapped in him – locked in his embrace. From his breath, I could feel his head just above mine – like some kind of velociraptor watching over his prey. Or babe.

In a way, it seemed like both. Unsettling... but also terribly comforting. Who was going to fight a velociraptor for prey or child? I know I wouldn't. Stork had a way of surprising you, and for the few times I'd seen him in battle, I'd come to the conclusion that he wasn't someone to be trifled with. There weren't many things that set him off, but if you managed it, you'd better be prepared for the severe consequences. I thought of the leviathan... How he'd taken the helm with such a relish while under the spell, and afterwards wandered the ship, not quite believing the stories we told him. He was... pretty bad for a while. I wasn't sure which part scared him the most – losing the _Condor_, or losing his mind about it.

But I knew the fact that he couldn't remember any of it disturbed him quite a bit.

But in this situation... he wasn't very disturbed. It was more of an... acceptance. I wondered if, maybe, this is how things were meant to be. That he belonged here, in the _Condor_, broken or not. I remembered our first 'adventure' as the Storm Hawks. How he told me, rather simply, that '_this pilot goes down with his ship_'. His loyalties to the crew were questionable, but his loyalty to this ship was undeniable.

I let out a sigh. "Alright. I think I'm ready."

"Alrighty..." His voice was soft, breathy. I don't know if it was the silence, or the fact that we were always so close together, but he didn't raise his voice much these days. Not that he ever spoke terribly loud – except when he was yelling at someone, or screaming. But generally, he was soft-spoken. Now, when it was just the two of us, it was more so. And those soft smiles were becoming more the norm than the sideways glances. Whatever space had been between us for professional reasons – or whatever you would want to call it – seemed to have vanished somewhere amidst him treating my injuries. Granted, there was so much privacy you could get when you had a bad leg – bathroom time, in particular, came to mind – but Stork had taken to it with a tenderness that... I honestly wouldn't have expected from him.

But, he did like to surprise you.

He had his arms under mine, so I could use them as handles, bars against which to push myself up. I held on, and he slowly rose, tipping my weight back onto my feet – the right holding, though shaking, and the left with a great deal of pain. The wrappings that surrounded my thigh were a source of much discomfort, to put it kindly. I'd... stopped looking at the wound when he changed my dressings. It disgusted me, and I really didn't want to have the images haunt my memory more than they already did. A mass of red blood was more of an abstraction than the mutilated, torn tissue that was under it, a sick fantasy I didn't want to indulge. So when Stork cleaned it, with as much gentleness and kindness as he could muster, I didn't fuss. I didn't look. I just held my breath, it seemed, and waited for him to finish.

Much like now, I held my breath. Step. Step. Step. Step. Almost at that last door. Step. Step. Step. Step. There, past it now. Looking down, I could see his green feet right behind mine, the toes ready to snatch me up at a moment's notice if I go down. My fingers wrapped around his, his arms brushing against mine. Always behind me, a breathing on the back of my head. Right there, right behind me. A velociraptor, looking over me, though whether to care or to eat, I couldn't tell.

It was slow going. But he was patient. We made it to the end.

"You're doing well," he said kindly. He turned me around. We started back to the front.

Inching, shuffling. Occasionally stepping, striding. He's not particular as to how I go about it, just that I'm using the leg, and moving. He's there if I need him. For support. For encouragement. For company. It's a long trek, but we do it every day. Up and down each level, marching the dead body of his fallen love.

We were on level 3 when I stopped again. Panting, as he once again shifted himself beneath me. Playing prop. His hands squeezed mine reassuringly. His face slipped into my view – he smiled at me.

"It's alright – you're making good time," he told me. "Last lap, and then lunch."

I nodded quickly, trying to catch my breath. In... out. In... out.

But I looked back at him, and noticed something.

He was looking away. It was much darker down here – it was a much smaller corridor. He wasn't going to take me into the cargo bay. If you could call it that. We generally used it as a 'movie room', although the countless lockers in the walls held something. I didn't know what, but something. Likely, he knew. Likely a store of Merb cabbage, for one.

As I looked at him, his eyes seemed... like he was debating something. His eyes were focused on one hatch in particular, and it took me a moment to realise... it was his room.

"Do you want to... move shop down here?" I asked him. In all honesty, I was terrified he'd say yes. It was so dark down here... If level 2 was ghostly, level 3 was demonic. Level 1 was the only one with enough natural light to call it really lit, and we did generally hang out in the bridge as a crew. Not that we didn't hang elsewheres as well, the bridge was just... Stork's comfort zone. Or rather, most of the time he was flying the ship, and it was easier to come to him then get him away from the helm for any extended period of time. He murmured something non-commital. Doubtless he'd sensed my wariness in with the proposal.

I glanced at the hatch as well. Wondered if maybe that's where he'd run off to. His room. As I pondered it, a realisation came to me – I hadn't seen Stork sleep in some time.

My eye turned back to him, and my observation that he looked... gaunt. And tired. I slept fitfully – the pain kept waking me – but he was always there with an icer, or food for my 'strength'. I wondered if he ever slept anymore – it wasn't the first time I'd thought it, but now I realised, even for Merbs, it wasn't healthy to go days without sleep.

"Stork..." That eye turned to me. "You really look tired. You should get some rest."

His smile was kind. So kind, it was patronising. "You're almost done with your lap. And then I'll make you lunch. Then we can rest."

"No, Stork, I mean it," I argued back. I looked to the hatch. "When was the last time you slept in your own bed?"

He looked to the hatch, and back at me. And then away.

"Longer than I'd care to admit, to be honest," he answered.

In that moment, he let go of the mask. The weariness dragged him down – his arms fell limp, his hands cupping mine, the legs sprawled out on either side of me. Even his head drooped over my shoulder. He nuzzled my neck.

"I'm sorry," he murmured quietly against my skin. "I guess I am... really tired."

I smiled, rubbing a finger on his hand. "It's alright. I do appreciate what you're doing for me."

He murmured against me, his skin soft and smooth, and cool against mine. It felt... real nice.

"That feels good," I said softly.

I could feel him instantly clench around me. The fingers clawed ever so slightly. His muscles tightened. Even his face hardened.

His voice sounded a little harsh when he spoke. "You don't mind?" I think it sounded... bitter.

"No, it feels nice, actually," I said. I even craned my head away, so he could get more neck. "Please."

I sensed a calculation being made. Finally, "I don't think you know what it entails."

"A little... physical affection?" I chanced. "I mean, you practically change my diapers. Don't see how much more intimate I can get."

I think my snarkiness assured him. His eyes looked into mine.

He closed them. "I am... Really tired. And my bed has been calling me for some time." He opened them, slightly, just to look at me. "But I don't want to have you too far away. In case you need me."

"You can take me with you," I suggested. To be honest, this touching thing did feel real nice. And... he was always so gentle. I felt... safe. Safe as one did with a guard dog. That velociraptor thought again.

His neck coiled back, and he narrowed his eyes at me. But he blinked. Presumably seeing my point.

"I... suppose. If you're not hungry, that is."

I shook my head. "Not quite." To be honest... I was tired. I often fought through lunch – I just wanted to crash a while, not eat. I would be starving later, but... Not having to go back to the lift was a little spoiling I hoped he would give me. And it wasn't really a lie...

"Well. I can't argue with that," he said finally. He held his hands open to me, and my fingers wrapped in his. I had an extra finger, and it hung about oddly, but neither of us said anything about it. Using his arms as a base, I tried to pull myself up, his body pressing against mine as he tilted me on my feet.

Step. Hobble. Hobble. He stepped into the hatch and turned to me.

"Um... How about if I just... pick you up?" he asked.

"Yes, please!" I said quietly, gratefully falling into his arms. He scooped me up without a sound – though I'm sure I felt him grunt – and placed me on the bed. My good leg lay on the outside – so I didn't have to worry about it falling off the end, I suppose. With his always surprising dexterity, he crept in the other side.

There was a very happy little smile on his face as he very gently pulled the blanket from beneath us. He snuggled – yes, snuggled – in beside me, and pulled it over us.

"If you need anything, I'm right. Here," he said, looking up at me with eyes that... I think were 'adoring'.

I smirked. He really was tired. But he then rested that head of his on my shoulder, nuzzling me again. His hands clutched my arm loosely, and I watched the weariness – and life – drain from his body.

Before long, he was snoozing. The deep in and outs of his breathing were soothing, and before long, I was asleep, too.

xxxxx

Yes, I purposefully started with that assumption, hehehe... Contrary to common assumption, I don't see Stork as someone who is naturally insomniac. Quite honestly, I think having a number of people on his ship (or at least, that's how he sees it) stresses him out quiet a bit. Near the end of the show, he relaxes a bit, but in "Origins" he's rather well contained – which is at odds with how stressed he is to begin with. I feel this is from the crew, and their invasion on his home more than anything else. So when Piper needs someone to watch over her, he's used to sacrificing sleep for the crew. Problem is, it does take a toll on him – it's not healthy for him to skip out on sleep like that, even if he's gotten pretty used to it. I also like a strange balance between Stork's animalistic nature and his advanced intelligence. While the humans are more 'civilised' physically, their mental evolution isn't quite there. I feel the Merbs have kept some of their animalistic parts – such as the feet, the ears, and the muzzle – but in turn are more intellectually evolved. So when he gets tired, or stressed, or angry, or even aroused, he's very feral about it – nuzzling, and growling and being rough and wild.


	6. Tenderness: Part 2

Immediately following Chapter 1. This time, Stork's POV.

xxxxx

She came to me often, on lonely nights. Sometimes in the bridge, but also in those rare nights I found myself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

One thing was for certain, she was always _brown_. I'd always been fascinated by the colour, even as a young Merb. My entire family's been green for generations, and I remember the first time I'd been in a group of other children. There had been a brown girl there, and I'd been so captivated by her skin tone... I found out later they weren't so uncommon, but my love of the colour stayed.

A lot of times, she was coy and sexy. Bored, and feisty, and restless, and irresistibly attracted to me – a Merb who usually wasn't that impressive, but when a girl was all alone... Well, someone of such power and import as a pilot made you pretty sexy. I know, pathetic that I find my occupation one of my most redeeming features, but with all the work I've put into the ship, I would be lying if I said I wasn't proud of how far she – and I – had come.

_What's a Merb like you doing on a ship like this? _Cat and mouse, tease and torture. I'd play the game and see how long I could keep the conversation going before she pulled me from the helm.

There were other times, after a long day, for instance – particularly a dangerous, or rather stressful 'mission' – that I'd find her lounging in my bed, a book usually in her palms – whatever I was reading at the time. She'd smile up at me, like she was waiting for me. If it was really bad, I'd lie in her arms and exhale all of the troubles I'd dealt with that day. How Junko's cooking filthed up the air filters again. Or how Finn's latest idea of a 'neat trick' had ended up in bodily damage. If it included a grievous injury to my pride, she'd giggle and nuzzle me, distracting me from my offense. We'd roll together, and do what we do. Playful banter and tender touches.

Sometimes... sometimes I was just lonely. She would lie there, her eyes staring into mine, wearing a soft smile on her face. She'd whisper sweet nothings to me, and I'd touch her face. Trying to imagine her features. The eye markings changed. Her shade was never quite the same, and I could never keep her spots and stripes straight. Her wardrobe always changed, though a fancily cut ship suit – based on one I'd seen at a designer's once, many terras and missions ago – was pretty common, if not... simply a tank and undies.

Like... that's all she was there for. To be my companion. My mate. She was beautiful, flawless. A perfection of my imagination. She was growly when I wanted to take out a bit of anger on someone, and we'd tiff, but it'd come back to the physical exertion. I'd imagine what it must feel like to be with her, how wonderful it would be.

It was one of those nights. I sighed as we lay in bed, her head turned away from me. Her neck was exposed, and her earrings were just for decoration. I fancy she put them on for me, out of some misplaced sense of loyalty, but it was a flaw I couldn't fault her for.

_And Piper's doing well, it's just... _I struggled with the words. _She's not... you. Y'know? _I smiled sadly. _No one's quite like you._

I see the edge of her smile creep along her chin. My fingers trail from that crook behind her chin, and I venture down her neck, slowly. She gives an ever-so-slight shiver, and I smile. I duck back, tracing stripes that dance under my fingertips, watching them trail into the caramel tan of her underbelly. Her arm is draped over a side, and I skip on to it, stepping from dot to dot in a haphazard waltz.

She shifted, away from me. Curious... but it didn't deter me.

I shift closer. _I imagine one day I'll find you, you know._

_You always say that._

I smile sadly. I always say that. _I mean it, though._

Her eye opens just slightly, a sliver of white in the darkness as she gives me an 'orly?' look.

_You don't trust me?_

She rolls those eyes, the smile getting wider. _Trust, imagine, fact. They're rather different things, you know_. She puts out a finger and 'boop's me on the nose. _If anyone knows that, you do, Stork._

I watch the way her lips move as she says my name. Like as if her mouth could caress it, and make love to it, just by saying it. I feel my breath catch. It's one of my favourite things.

_Say my name again_, I say excitedly.

_Stork..._

I smile.

"Stork!"

I woke with a gasp.

Something was coming at my face, and I retaliated with a scream – I launched myself away.

I banged my head against the wall, and bounced back on to the bed – the blankets were all over the place, and it took me a moment to settle, after having lost my balance with half my limbs buried in the dark cover, and a new throbbing growing in the back of my head. The warm fuzzies building up under my skin weren't helping much either, as I peered through the darkness.

It was Piper. She was glaring at me, and a fist hung ready in the air.

_...Ready to fly again._

"Woah woah woah!" I shouted, putting my hands up in defense. "Hold on, I'm sorry!" I said quickly. I wasn't sure what's going on, but going from _her _to Piper... I caught my breath, but the fuzzies were still buzzing around my skull. I could guess what might have happened, and I knew it was likely something I ought to apologise for.

"What the hell, Stork?" she screeched at me. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at my face. I caught it quickly, but it didn't satisfy her. She reached for it again – I imagined so she could beat me with it, so I kept my grip.

"Hold on, hold on!" I shouted again, feeling a bit stupid as we wrestled over a pillow. "I'm sorry! Let me explain!"

"I'll explain!" she said, jabbing a finger in my face. "You've got serious issues, pal. You know you talk in your sleep? I don't know what your deal is, what your nightmares are or what, but don't be clawing me, alright? I've already got injuries, I don't need Merb scratches on my arms, too!"

Instinctively, my eyes moved down to her arms – there were the faintest lines there, not deep, but someone was putting on a bit of pressure.

I dropped the pillow, and also my jaw. When I was with... My hands. They'd been on her arm. And she got me a little excited, and I...

I increased my grip. Comes from years of piloting, I guess. I hold on to something.

I swallowed the horrid lump in my throat. I do have quite a strong grip. Well... compared to humans, anyways.

I bowed my head. "I'm... I'm sorry, Piper." I let out a deep breath. "I..." I decide to crawl out of bed. "I should go."

I don't know where I was going to go. The ship was destroyed. Everything was... just destroyed. It would take weeks to repair everything, and there's a lot of it I just couldn't do alone. Maybe with Junko, but...

But I only had Piper. And she was... lying in my bed. Injured.

_Lying in my bed_, the fuzzies whispered. Lying in my bed, and beautifully _brown_...

I growled, snarling, clenching my fists at the thought, once again. I couldn't deny my lady love sometimes had blue hair. Or honey eyes. Sometimes, sometimes after a really good day, after a successful mission, and she'd just complimented me on a particularly crafty bit of flying (I did fly better with an audience), and I felt pretty good – especially if there were fresh sand cakes involved – I would pretend she was Piper. Only, Piper as a Merb. A long, slender, sexy brown Merb. Best of both worlds. It was really nice.

But... she's not. She's not a Merb. She's... human.

"Stork?"

I scarcely looked back, but I hid behind my bangs. She seemed a bit disturbed by my private temper tantrum that, after all, wasn't so private.

And I smelt fear.

"I'm sorry about that," she said quickly. "Please... don't be mad at me."

I turned fully to face her. Me, mad at her? If anyone, I was mad at myself.

"What do you mean, mad at you?" I tossed my head. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"For... yelling," she said. She bowed her head. It piqued my interest. "I'm sorry. Don't be mad at me."

This was an intriguing turn of events. I craned my head to the side. "You're apologising to _me_... after _I've_... scratched you?" I tried to keep it simple, but I gestured back and forth between us, in case she'd forgotten the just-passed awkward moment.

"It's not that bad." Her smile was sheepish. "You just... surprised me is all."

I gave her a look. The look that said I didn't believe her horrible lie.

"Well... Scared, is more like," she confessed. And then a smirk tweaked at her lips. "But... I suppose Merbs are different, right?"

I narrowed my eyes at her. It was that 'interesting' conversation all over again.

In fact, I crossed my arms. "Not that different," I answered. I tapped a finger on my arm. Something to distract myself from the fuzzies.

I think... I think she blushed. That made me stop. Stop with the tapping, that is – the fuzzies made a flurry under my skin.

I cocked my head to the side. "Pipe..." I said, sternly. "What is it?"

She didn't meet my eye, but I saw a shadow of a smile on her face. "You were... touching on me again."

I scowled, tossing my head aside, but... when I looked back, her face was definitely smiling.

I frowned. "I'm... sorry for whatever I did," I said. It felt awkward and forced, but I was going to say it.

She turned to look at me, then. That smile still growing. "Don't apologise," she said.

An eyebrow arched high, and she held up a finger. "Get back here and keep on."

If it was an experiment... Alright, those fuzzies were definitely getting the better of me. I looked her up and down. She wasn't quite as long, wasn't quite as slender, but she was brown – definitely brown.

I could feel my left eye twitch, but my feet moved of their own accord.

"I should warn you..." I whispered, but her hands grabbed my ship suit, and pulled me back into bed.

xxxxx

He was going to warn you...


	7. A Ride: Part 1

This takes place well after "Crash" – Piper has recovered to where she's walking on her own. We still haven't heard back from the rest of the crew, and Stork's going to have to leave the ship in search of supplies. By this point, they've gotten rather far in their physical relationship. Stork has latched on to her emotionally, and dotes on her. Worries about her. It's cute, in a very puppy dog sort of way, I think.

xxxxx

"Piper?"

She groans, waves a hand away. Curls over and seeks sleep.

I give a small 'heh'. "Piper..." I reach out and touch her, wiggling her shoulder a smidge. This time she whines.

"Stork..." she mutters. She scoffs, and carefully raises an eyelid to look at me. Her eyes are red, and she is still very tired. "What?"

I can't help the lopsided grin on my face. She is _not _a morning bird.

"I'm heading to town," I announced. "Considering I'm not sure where town _is_, I may be a while, but I'll try to be back before dinner. Alright?"

Her face softens. A smile forms. "Alright." She forces a hand up to touch my face, and I nuzzle into it. "You be careful out there. And stay out of trouble."

I give her an innocent look. "You've met me, right?"

She giggles. "I'd hope so. I wouldn't want to be sleeping with strangers. It'd give me a bad reputation." Her tired eyes give me a wink, and I chuckle.

"You need sleep," I note, and I give her the hand back, blessing her temple with a kiss. She's so warm. And brown, like chocolate. "Don't forget to eat something when you get up. You're still not at full form."

"Yes, Doctor," she replies, her voice husky.

_Kazaa_, she makes it hard to leave. "Bye, Piper..." I say, forcing my feet to move out of the room.

"Bye..." she calls after me, turning over in bed.

There's still a smile on my face when I get to the hangar bay. As I look around, I applaud myself on what all I've accomplished in these last, several weeks. For one, gotten a regular sleeping pattern back. Ah, how good it is to not have an alarm clock waking you in the morning. Or evening. The simple pleasure of taking a nap any time you want to. No helm to worry about. No rowdy sharpshooters banging on your door for assistance in tomfoolery. No forgetful mechanics asking where such-and-such is hiding. The rat's absence is particularly wonderful – I'm always worried he's scuttling about in my ducts somewhere, causing mischief where he ought not be.

The _Condor _is beginning to resemble herself again. Broken windows removed, damaged panels repaired as best as I could manage, or else added to the trash heap. The hallways cleared, and every room relieved of its damages and trash. Sadly, a lot of things will need to be replaced. I'll need sheet metal for the ship's hull. Lots of sheet metal. To be honest, I was likely going to run out of the kind of crystals I need for my welding torch, too, before I was done with everything. New windows, and I think some kind of heat source. I have no idea how much replacing everything is going to be. We did our best to convert our money into tradeable goods, but I really don't know how well it will go. I'm hoping 'outdated' translates well into antiques, for one. One man's hunk-of-junk crystal is a Merb's just-what-I-needed tool. Say one thing – we Merbs are resourceful.

I just hope someone else out here is, too.

I open the hatch – she grinds something awful, but that's to be expected with power almost nonexistent – and shudder at the whipping wind from outside. There's a storm coming in, I think. I look back to where I came from, and am grateful we moved somewhere nearer the center of the ship. Lighting is nice, but not freezing to death is nicer.

Most of the clutter around the hangar bay has been replaced to where it belonged, and I had finally checked the rides last night. I'd been putting it off until after Piper was up and walking on her own – something she'd managed almost a week ago, and still, I couldn't bring myself to do it. My ride, I wasn't so worried about, but Piper's...

It was a mess. Scrap metal, at best. I mean, I _could _put it back together, but the scarring... Well, every time she sat on it, she'd be reminded of the incident. Or else get a new seat. Hell, a new ride would be better. Or at least the parts to make one. I was clever, I could do that. In fact, it was one of the things I really wanted to shop for today – a ride for Piper. That way she wouldn't be stuck here, nor would she need me to fly her around.

For the sake of argument, I could have her fly me around, but... I didn't really want her flying my ride. Not that I didn't trust her, but... Well, it was mine. Which meant it had a lot of things and bobs and traps and the like, and it would be very easily conceivable that in a panick she would just start pushing buttons at random, and I know it would end disastrously.

No, Piper needed her own ride. Something to be hers. Something she could fly without worrying about being killed by pressing the wrong button.

So, knowing for damned certain that she needed a new ride, and having that at the top of the list of things that needed acquiring, I had made up my mind to venture out of the ship today.

But first, a jacket. I went to the hatch that held a lot of survival gear. Of the many things included, NORMAL clothes, not ship suits. Not that I had anything in particular against our ship suits – they did a fair job of armoring one's self against the elements. But I wasn't so sure I wanted to go out with a giant Storm Hawks emblem on my back. So I grabbed a black leather jacket, and a helmet, naturally.

Thus garbed, I got into my ride, feeling a little guilty. I looked back at the hatch, thinking of Piper. I still didn't like leaving her alone. I didn't like leaving the _Condor_. What if some vultures showed up and picked her clean? Piper...

I sighed. Piper would be a sitting duck. Advanced technology notwithstanding, she simply couldn't stand up against the physical force of a group of men who had morals low enough to scalp dead ships.

I spoke with experience.

_A ride for Piper_, I told myself. That was the goal for the day. And I had already agreed to the compromise of acquisition. A nice way of lying to myself, but I tried not to think on it.

The grumble of my engine sounded so sweet. The tumbling of mechanics after so long in silence. I moved out of the hangar bay with a sense of determination wrestling with my worry. I'd spent the night debating, however, and it was only by reminding myself 'a ride for Piper' that the determination had won out.

A ride for Piper. I sincerely hoped I could find _something_.

xxxxx

A little tiny bit of foreshadowing... But only if you look at it from the right angle. And know what I'm talking about (which kind of defeats the purpose of foreshadowing, really).


	8. A Ride: Part 2: Hell

Hey, lot. So sorry – I've been crazy busy with the craftin' and such, but I thought I'd give you this scene to tide you over for a bit. I wrote it a while ago, but was expecting another scene to come between this one and the last... Mind, the scene never came, and to be honest, it was pretty ugly, and I can't say you would have wanted to see it, anyway. Stork likes to keep his horrors to himself, after all. Suffice it to say... Stork was found by someone who didn't quite like the 'look' of him. Try reading Dotskip317's "Human" – it was the inspiration for this part of the backstory. He made his way back home, scarred and shaken, and looked for a little comfort in what way he could find...

xxxx

I hardly heard the hatch open.

"Hey, Stork – !"

By greeting, my lips were clasped in his, the typically cool, clammy skin unusually cold and dry. I imagined it was because of the weather outside, but I couldn't say much – he'd wrapped his arms around me, and was moving me back against the counter while his mouth assaulted mine.

When he finally broke for breath, he gasped, pressing his forehead against mine – a now familiar sign of affection that seemed decidedly different, now. I looked up to his eyes, but rather than sharing one of our 'meaningful glances', his eyes were squeezed shut.

It was then I noticed that his left was brown. A number of cuts marked his naturally smooth skin. I stood, agape, as I glanced him up and down – his shirt was torn, and a sleeve ripped – from a black leather jacket I hadn't seen before. His expression was pained, and I felt an urgency in his hands as he held me that genuinely scared me.

"Piper," he whispered. He shook his head, a hand winding itself in my hair. The tips of his fingers massaged my scalp, leaving me tingling with conflicting emotions and chemistry. He bared his teeth, like he were fighting back a hiss, and shook his head again. "Piper..."

"Stork...?" I didn't know what to ask him. I knew he needed me, but... My eyes were transfixed on the dark gashes that were everywhere. That disgusting bruise on his eye. The tatteredness of his clothes. His shirt was rather battered, I saw now, and I wondered with horror what other damages he'd taken on under it. That I couldn't see yet.

He shook his head again, as if trying to discourage some fly from his air. The small, green ears flickered, and I saw a purpling at the base of one of them. I realised his arms had me gripped tight to where I couldn't move, and to be honest, his fervent grip was beginning to hurt me.

"Piper," he whispered again, urgently. His eyes opened, then, and he looked to me.

The panick in those eyes. You'd swear he was an animal – a helpless gazelle, chased by some kind of viscious beast. This wasn't the morbid fascination of death that had him so twisted, entranced and yet fearful – the fear of respect. This was absolute panick. Mind-numbing terror. Further emphasised by his left eye attempting to twitch, but his eyelid only fluttered slightly under the swelling, and it was disgusting.

"Stork..." I started again. "What happened to you?"

And then he broke into tears.

I... I'd never seen Stork cry. I mean, there was that one time, with Fluffykins, but... Well, we'd all cried. It was a touching moment. But this...

His hands were a vice grip as his arms clutched me close. All I could do was... comply. I wrapped my arms around him, attempting to comfort. His neck fell over my shoulder, his head nuzzling against me, rubbing almost roughly, wetting my skin with his tears. I tried to rub my hands over his back, but... I was horrified to see that the random clippings from his shirt continued on his back. There were outright gashes here, and I could see where the shirt had gone darker than natural from his...

I attempted to swallow the lump in my throat, but it lodged itself. Horror, disbelief, and worry filled me. As this poor, abused Merb held me, crying like I'd never seen him, I felt my heart break.

"Stork..." I whispered, moving my fingers lightly over his back – trying not to hurt him any more. "Stork, baby, what happened?"

He tried to speak, but his words were unintelligible through the weeping. Frustrated, I realised he was in no state to speak. So I did what I knew would calm him down.

"Shh... It's okay, babe, I gotcha," I whispered, and I reached an arm over his back – dear god, it was still wet! I shut my eyes in horror – and stretched up and up... finding the collar of his shirt, and then his neck, and then that crook of hair.

I made sure to make smooth, soft strokes. I avoided his left ear – it had looked rather swollen, and instead gingerly caressed the right. It was very long until his sobs subsided into smaller weeps... and finally mere whimpers.

He took deep, shuddering breaths. He still had me in a vice grip, and was nuzzling me, smearing me with his tears. My heart was breaking as I held him, scarcely aware of the counter digging into my hip around his hands.

"There there, I gotcha," I whispered, over and again. His ear danced slightly at my words, and after a long, gut-wrenching while, he withdrew.

He sniffed, the action moving his whole head. His eyes were closed again, but softly this time, not squeezed tight. He set his forehead on mine, and I looked at him. Waiting.

He sniffed again, and his eyes once more opened to look at me. The usual yellow was tinged in streaks of red, and neither of them opened very wide. I thought of him as a child, then, and took the hand that was stroking him to do so again.

His eyes fluttered closed as my fingers kneaded the hair. I told myself it was natural grease that made it a little sticky, but I didn't dare to check. His sniff was quiet, and even his grip loosened to a reasonable amount of strength.

I couldn't help but smile. All the years he'd spent pushing me off, and all this time it was as easy as that to calm him down from a calamity so great.

I sobered. I looked down at the damage he wore, and wondered again what doom exactly it was that he'd just endured.

He opened his mouth and took in a shuddering breath. And then let out a deep sigh. He tilted his head up, then, and kissed me once more.

It was soft, and gentle. Tears stained his lips – and mine, I'm sure – but I pretended not to notice. The hand in his hair moved still, keeping away from the offensive ear, while the other picked a spot of his back and stayed there after making sure the skin it touched wasn't oozing any life.

I have to confess, I was surprised when his hands reached down to my ass. I wasn't going to complain, but he then outright picked me up, and deposited my bum on the counter.

_I might have over done it with the scalp massage_, I thought to myself, but it was a bit late for that. His lips were soft, tentative, but also quivering. His fingers trailed up my body, but they shook. I could feel the vibrations through my clothes as they traveled up my spine, traced the width of my back, and followed the curves of my sides. He moved himself between my legs, constantly kissing.

I had stopped with the fingers, and rearranged myself (with the opportunity of his hands otherwise occupied) so that my hands could stroke his chest. I slid my fingers across that sensitive zone – I squeezed my eyes shut so I didn't have to see to confirm the wound I felt there – and he gave a heavy gasp.

I opened my eyes to see his face. He broke off the kiss, meeting our foreheads again. He shook his head, that grimace on again. His teeth bared in a hiss, but he muscled through it. I glanced down, and gingerly moved my fingers in that sacred place, but without touching the wound. His breath was heady, and his lips sought mine once more.

It was in this touch-and-go manner that he sought his relief. I wish I'd known more about my part in this game, but I did my best to learn as I went. The more successful I was, the more he could think of me instead of his wounds. So I did my best to not bring attention to them. When he removed his ship suit, I could see a lot better. See that he'd been beaten up rather badly, to put it lightly. Thick gashes here and there that looked like knife stabbings. Cuts from near misses. Big bruises that would be there for a while. Tears were in my eyes as I trailed my fingers alongside one shoulder, eyeing the swelling on his side – broken ribs, I'd imagine. I didn't want to see the back. I confess, I was scared to. I knew I likely would, but right now... Right now, I was already so sad for my love, I couldn't bear to see more.

I kissed him as fervently as he kissed me. His arms hadn't taken much damage up top – though the bottom was scarred from his defenses. I helped him ungarb me, and his lips took to my skin. I left a trail of kisses on his neck, and he on mine, before lingering lower, and clutching at my breasts with desperate hands. I found smooth skin on his arms, and held on for dear life as he tenderly touched me, as if I'd vanish any second. His nuzzlings and suckings were the most gentle and fearful he'd ever done. I was used to a steady firmness from him – a humouring experience that he would share if I so desired. But now, it was he who needed me. It was both terrifying and empowering. But with that power came a heavy, heavy burden. But for my love, I would do my best to help relieve him of his pain.

Or at least distract. But when at last he saw fit to make use of his mount, I was surprised by how easily he did so with the counter. His hands held me surely as he moved me closer, and my hand carefully moved from arm to neck, driving him mad with my fingers rather than the wounds that stretched all over his body.

His first entrance was a question, a prodding. I moved my hips, pushing forward, encouraging him. He often lost himself in love, and I did hope it would do him good. He hesitated, I think, but took my invitation. But his motions were smooth, unsure. As tentative, and as needful as his kisses, but I pushed back. I squeezed what little I could, and his fervent kisses ceased.

"Piper..." he whispered, and I again marveled at the beautiful form of his spine and hips. How his thin frame held such power.

"Stork," I whispered back, trailing my fingers softly through his hair. I resisted the temptation to lock my ankles, for fear of what damage I might do to the ghastly mystery. But the sound of his own name, whispered in his ears, must have given him hope.

It was still tentative, and worried. And then reluctant, but trying. But before long, he was desperately lost in me. I couldn't help but smile, the chemistry drowning me in bliss, despite the situation. He let out a moan, a weak, rattling sound he hadn't made before. Growls, yes. Often. But a moan...

I groaned. He was breaking my heart. I wanted so to relieve him of his pain. Or to distract him from it. "Stork," I whispered again, like it was a spell. "Oh, Stork... Please..."

He gasped, and I felt his hands on my hip tighten. He clenched his teeth in concentration, and I panted at the increase in speed and power.

"Come on," I whispered, encouraging him. "Oh, Stork..."

It was certainly helping. The grip tightened all the more – a more natural strength, like I'd come to be used to. A seething hiss escaped his teeth, and I watched as the last of his panick died, and was replaced with the all out desire of this.

"Oh, baby," I sighed, scratching ever so slightly at his scalp.

A low growl. _That_ was my Stork. That was him. Confidant, and rough. Harsh, unfeeling, too strong, and not-human.

"Come on," I said again. "Stork..."

The growling increased. His grip on my hips tightened even more. His head was at mine, those lips finding my ear, and teeth gripping and tugging.

I gritted my teeth. Harder than usual. I'd over done it again.

I let out a whine, and he relented, but only to travel to my neck. He nibbled and sucked, and I found myself focusing more on his oral assaults than the muscle he was pounding in and out of me.

"Stork..." I whispered, this time with worry. Had I gone too far?

But his head was away from me again. He was panting heavily, going full throttle, and I slapped a hand to the counter to balance myself. I let out a small gasp as he kept on, barreling in and out and in and out and in and out and –

And then he stopped, clutching me close. My eyes flew open wide, and I took in the contortions of his face, his mouth snarling, once white teeth painted in something else. I watched his body convulse once, twice, a third time, and then melt.

Panting, he keeled over, collapsing into my arms. I was flabbergasted at the suddenness of it all, but held on. Two green feet slid on the tile as he leaned on me, and I could only wrap my arms around him.

_What the hell?_ was all I could think.

xxxx

Pretty graphic, yes... I was surprised, too – Stork started out rather shy with his smut scenes, but this one was pretty severe. This will be one of those things that makes First Mate Piper a bit anxious about asking Stork the Captain too many questions. Because she doesn't really want to know. But, what's the saying? All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing...


	9. A Ride: Part 3: Demon

Small notes. First part takes place... I'm actually not sure when. I want to say during Dark Side, but it could be post-DS, for all I know. It's ridiculously vague on that. A few hints on some of my rules on 'how to write Stork' are in here, if you pay attention. Yes, I have a list of things to keep in mind when writing him – it makes it a challenge, but it also keeps me from making plot holes. Also, this is for the people bitching about how non-canon DS!Piper is. A lot of shit has happened since they got to Farside, and not all of it is pleasant. I have already stated this, but you know how I like to repeat things when I really mean it...

xxxx

"_You have _got_ to be kidding me."_

_He chuckled, nuzzling the side of my neck. "You asked for it. And, I never jest. You know that."_

"_Except when you're being deathly sarcastic," I replied._

"_Well, there is then." His hands wandered into my suit, the fingertips tracing the mud brown of my skin, kissing down to my breasts._

"_Stork," I whispered, using his name, "When are you going to get a _normal_ sleep schedule?"_

_I watched his eyes shimmer, and he smiled softly at me."Since when have I ever worked to your definition of 'normal', exactly?"_

_That tongue and those teeth made me gasp so I couldn't answer. His hands assisted mine to undress me, and finally he was between my legs, one hand running down my hip, around the curve of my bum, and then the edge of thumb tracing the scar that ran along the outer side of my left thigh._

_I felt him sigh against me as he touched it. A mark that he would never share. A tangible sign that it wasn't something I imagined. His mouth took mine, then, and I was completely entwined._

xxxx

"_Stay close to me_."

I rolled my eyes. I knew Merbs were twitchy and paranoid, and yes, him coming back scratched up had scared me quite a bit, but I was pretty certain he was being a bit over-protective. Actually, it kind of reminded me of when we had to take the _Condor_ to a proper mechanic – he didn't trust many people with his ship, but sometimes she needed help he couldn't provide. He would get twitchy and ask too many questions and be generally unsatisfied with any answers offered to him and be pretty unbearable until it was all over, and then he would mutter and sputter about how he could have fixed it just fine on his own... if he only had the right tools.

And yet... it always seemed we never had the right tools. That would be because we rarely had much money... Feeding a Wallop cut into your expenses by a lot.

Stork was wearing a long, black trench coat that I honestly hadn't realised we owned. He had it buttoned up all the way, but it floated around his thin frame like a silly parachute. His face was hiding under one of his cowboy hats, but he had it tucked down as far as it could go, and had even added a handkerchief around his mouth.

I was wearing my usual ship suit, and a brown jacket – if Cyclonis spotted us, it was true that we wouldn't want her spotting the Storm Hawks insignia, but that was as far as I was going to encourage him.

The town was crowded, but rather filthy. A lot of yelling and bickering, and some colourful language as well. Can't say anything about any law or order.

Stork's eyes were flickering about faster than I'd really seen them. The defensive posture I was so used to – him hunched over, a hand at the ready lest he be attacked – was replaced with this strange obsession to hold his head high, while still low enough to hide under his hat. As I watched him beside me, I had to confess it would have been comical if it weren't so weird.

"Stork... What are we going to do?" I asked him quietly. "I don't see anyone here that would be the type to help us." In fact, I watched an angry madam toss out a young man in the brothel up ahead. A number of harlots cursed at him as the lot of them drove him off. I wrinkled my nose at the entire prospect of the idea.

"Yeah... They really aren't the type." He propped up his collar, then, and cut to the right into an alleyway. I skipped a step, and turned to follow.

"_Stay close_," he hissed at me again.

"Hard to do when you slip off so _fast_," I growled back.

"It's be fast, or..."

But his eyes weren't looking at me, and they were widening. I turned as well, and a number of brutes – three of them, at least, though I spotted two more coming in behind them – stepped toward us, their eyes dark and threatening. I looked back at Stork as he let out a 'goik!', and found that the other way was likewise blocked.

"Right turn _after_ the brothel," he said under his breath, and I felt my heart start to race.

"Stork?" I could hear my voice shake slightly.

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking," he answered me, and I watched his eyes dart from one side of the alley to the other.

"You two seem lost," said one of the ones who'd followed us.

"Just a bit, yeah," I answered, smiling nervously. Hopefully they would not kill us if they realised we had just... _accidentally_ walked through their turf.

"Piper!" Stork hissed. "We are not lost! I know exactly where we are."

I looked back at him and glared. "Who's got the bad bluff?"

"You do!" he answered. "I know where we are, and these guys don't care if you say we're lost, they'll still try and kill us!"

As I was arguing with my pilot, they got even closer. Within punching distance, almost. I took note of it with satisfaction, figuring Stork could probably take the ones on his side easy enough.

That was until they opened their jackets. Blades that shone with a variety of colours were unsheathed and glowing armour on their chests beckoned us to try a punch – and I remembered that we were in Farside, now. And even if we had the whole crew, they would crush us to a pulp.

Like they already had.

To my surprise, Stork shed his disguise – he threw off the hat, and pulled off the kerchief, and made a serpentine hiss at the fellow who had addressed me.

"Woah! What the hell is that?" cried one.

"Dude, that guy's _green_!"

Stork snarled and snapped at them, and they recoiled, disturbed by this strange behaviour. Not going to be caught off guard, he spun around and likewise threatened those on the other side.

"Holy crap, that's his face!"

"I'm warning you," he said, his voice turning dark and gravelly. "Thisss iss mine. I will kill any of you that come closser..." And he took a strange, serpentine pose that suggested he was deadly serious. Even I was rather disturbed by the sudden hissing and... well, strangeness of it all.

"Come on, you're scaring me..." I whispered.

And then he _hissed_ at _me_.

"Ssilence! I'll deal with you later!"

And then he threw the jacket at me, and I hardly caught it.

He turned his attention back to the people around us, and I confess, I was mostly stunned. The quiet, almost shy pilot – who seemed almost allergic to leaving the vessel – was now trying to take on half a dozen of way-souped Farsiders? The shift from paranoid to... whatever form of madness had overtaken him was more than a little shocking.

I watched as the Merb took on a strange sort of dance, riding atop his toes like he hardly needed to touch the ground, his whole body moving in an unearthly rhythm. I think the fact that I was disturbed seemed to disturb them even more.

"Who'ssss firsst?" came a dark voice. I had to realise it was Stork as he let out another serpentine hiss.

It almost sounded like... a Raptor, actually.

The voice struck something odd in me. Sometimes, in the middle of a game of Catch the Sky Knight or Truth or Dare, Stork would get that really dark look in his eye... the kind that Finn took to mean a really good dare, or that he had a really nasty flying maneuver in mind that would catch you the first few times you faced it. It didn't pop up very often, but it always meant bad news for whoever was on the receiving end.

_I hate tailgaters_. Just before he slammed on the brakes to take out a small squadron of Raptors.

_Unless... that's what you want_. Persuading Junko to follow his map through the Black Gorge.

_Crunch_. The crushing depths of Terra Deep.

_I get to have all their stuff_... I had thought he was trying to be funny.

Now that I thought on it, Stork had a rather twisted sense of humour. But he also read a lot of pretty dark, gory fiction, and kept to himself a lot of the time. I liked to think I was a bit wicked myself in a way that made me interesting, but I realised that I had nothing on the quiet pilot.

Seeing the dark side of him come out again, I felt a bit apprehensive – there was no _Condor_ to return to, to swoop in for a stunning victory with a blaring horn and guns, no clever traps or tools up his sleeve to get us out of this mess. There wasn't Aerrow with his dueling skills, Finn with his perfect shot, Junko with his muscle. Even I was pretty useless – I didn't quite have the energy for a fight, and my crystals were nothing next to these guys.

And yet... he seemed quite the opposite of afraid. It was our opponents who were more concerned.

Finally, a guy in the back decided he would take his chances, and came forward, holding his sword at the ready.

In a flash, the bastard was on the ground, face first, and the Merb had his sword. I don't know how he managed it, but Stork was on top of him, the most cruel and distorted face I had ever seen – I realised then what the Merbian crazy face truly was, and I found myself paralyzed with fear at the look of fire in his eyes as he just as quickly swept the blade under the grunt's neck, splaying red blood everywhere.

His suit wasn't spared. He let out an unearthly hiss, and I swear I saw him lick it from his lips as he turned and once again threatened the oncomers without words. This time they definitely panicked, and started to run away, but Stork was faster. Two of them were on the ground before he reached the end of the alley, and when he dispatched the last of them, he turned around, and the crazy face had turned into a look of the most perverse glee I had ever seen – and we fought the Dark Ace on a common occasion.

On all fours, he galloped to the other side of the alley, any human dignity gone as he turned the corner. It was a pregnant pause before I heard an outcry of screaming, not only from the bastards he had caught, but doubtless the locals who had seen them. A woman's shrill cry of terror tore me from my stunned place, holding the black garb, and running after him.

He was once again hissing, but this time people weren't fighting back. Like an ocean of fear, they withdrew from him as a collective, and he stood, that high, proud posture daring them to question him. He let out a last snap, and turned to look at me.

The ghastly dark eyes. Instead of the fear or annoyance I was so used to in them, there was almost a deathly calm to them. Like it'd all been a ruse, and today he'd just not to play weak anymore. That this was his true self – some kind of ruthless machine, and I was at last blessed with the revelation that so few had the privelege to know. I felt like my voice had vanished, and I couldn't quite look down to see if my hands trembled.

"_Ssstay closse_," he ordered again, this time the words almost indecipherable under the snake-like hiss that seemed to come out of the back of his throat. His ears were pinned back in defiance, and he kept the high walk as he stepped down a little ways. I looked to the building beside us and realised it was the back half of the brothel, but only by the empty windows garnished in thick, rich fabrics, and the underwear strewn about, because the whores were gone. He marched forward, and the people still withdrew from us, terrified at this thing that – I looked back and realised there were another four or five bodies there on the ground. And two of them didn't look like thugs at all.

I said nothing as I turned back to follow as commanded.

His hiss was softer, but no less dangerous as he snapped at a man. For his part, he fell over and hit the ground, shaking and moaning miserably to himself, and I think I heard a dark rumble from the cursed Merb.

_I think he was laughing_.

At the next door, he didn't bother knocking, but opened it, and there were some screams and shouts of panick as people spilled out the back doors and windows as possible. I scampered to follow, not wanting to get closer, but fearing my punishment if I strayed behind. There was almost rumbling sound coming from the pilot, that seemed like a low and steady growl, barely audible, but you could feel it in the air.

Stork centered on a man who was doing his best to stay in one spot, a determined scowl on his face, even if his blue eyes shook and glistened with tears.

"_You_," the Merb said, the word like an arrow through the air rather than an address. "I want your finesst ride._ Now_."

It was then I realised... it was a bike shop. Full of rides of all sorts – heli types, gliders, jet-powered, rockets, even a number of crystal-enhanced ones. For a moment, my eyes ventured all over the place, a hand not daring to touch the things I knew we couldn't afford, but I imagine that's because my mind was refusing to acknowledge was going on between my pilot and the proprietor.

"W-w-what–" The fellow cleared his throat, but it still sounded like a frog was stealing the growl from his voice – all that was left was the wet, fearful little boy. "What kind do you want?"

"The bessst you have," the Merb hissed. "Defense. Offense. Flight, maneuverability. And I want it with the worksss." I couldn't see his eyes, but I imagined they were just as terrifying now as they were when he was growling at mechanics who dared to deem themselves worthy of the _Condor_. And that was never fun.

The proprietor gulped. "Y-yeas, s-s-sar."

He hopped out from behind his counter, as far away from the pilot as possible – whose head turned in that inhuman way he had, as if his line of vision was attached to the man, and followed his every move – and finally hid behind a white steed with a rather pretty shade of blue decorating it. It wasn't a heliscooter, but a proper jet-powered glider, with a flighty, but solid build that had rather good coverage of the flier. The guns looked rather versatile, and an advertisement mentioned the varying weapons that you could customise her with.

"W-which guns w-would you like, s-sar?" he squeaked.

"I want the bessst one for taking out as many bassssss..." His head shook from side to side like there was a fly trying to get into his ear, and he just wasn't going to have it. " –tardss out of the sssky at oncce!" Fists rose in the air, one of which was still clenched over the amber-toned sword he'd taken from his first

The sight of it was enough for the man to move quickly, and he darted this way and that, picking up tools to disassemble whatever guns were presently installed, and put in the ones that would do the job best. Everything he did, the Merb watched, his eyes always following him, the head turning this way and that to keep up, but the rest of his body was perfectly still. And perfectly rigid, tall and proud.

When the deed was done, the fellow packed up a number of things as well – an entire repair kit, a catalogue for future purchases, three boxes of ammo, and a large case of fuel crystals. He scribbled a note and put everything in the apparently rather spacious storage space in the back of the ride. And then, he fished under his desk for a pair of jingling keys.

"Everything you need," he said. "Ammo, fuel, and a way to get more," he said, very slowly, and very carefully, his eyes on the desk, and not in the direction of the Merb that was still staying very still. I had a long while ago sat down, and now stood, though I didn't dare approach. "This is the key. There's a second, and you can go to most any proper ride dealer for another. The Ranchell is a very popular maker, so you shouldn't have much trouble finding repair parts." I watched him gulp before putting it on the far end of the desk, and then backing into a back door, his eyes fearfully watching me, but I had nothing I could say.

I hardly knew what was happening. I confess, my mind watched it all, but none of it really made sense.

I watched him stride forward and take the keys. He opened the back hatch as he'd seen the proprietor do, and seemed to check for something, but when he was satisfied, he mounted it. He inserted the key, and the sound of warm rumbling filled the place.

It was like a hot soup after days of being down in the dumps. I felt everything melt and my mind came to, and I saw Stork there, astride a shiny new ride, his eyes a bit distant. Kind of like when he was thinking of something else, and was the best time to ask him questions before he came back.

"What's that, then?" I heard myself say.

"Get on, let's go," came the hollow reaction.

Next thing I knew, we were aboard the _Condor_, and Stork shut off the ride. I was still sitting there as he closed the hatch and set on the alarm. He returned to the ride, where I hadn't moved, and didn't look to me as he said, "I'm going to go down to my room for a while. I don't want you to come after me. I want you to go up to Level 1. The sick bay, or your room, whatever." I think I turned to look at him. His eyes still had that distant look. I knew I could ask him anything, but my mind had no words to say. "Whatever you hear... don't come after me."

I don't know if I maybe nodded, or said something, but next I knew, I was sitting down in the sick bay. I remember blinking, curious as to why I chose that place, and looked up at the cabinets. They were closed, but I opened them, looking at the straight lines of bottles, each perfectly marked and labeled with their purposes and uses. There was a dwindling supply of certain things, but other things were quite plenteous. Allergy meds, for instance.

I thought I heard screaming from down below, but I honestly can't remember.

xxxx

Ooh... scary stuff, right? I know, this is the part where Thing With No Talent completely writes me off (if she hasn't already) and I scare off the last of my readers, MWAHAHA! Small note: Stork has a way of compartmentalising, willingly and not (usually not) – this has come into play from the beginning with Anatomical Differences, and is a part of his anatomy and psychology. Is it normal for Merbs, or just him? OOH, what a question! And if it's just him, how did it get that way? Mucho fun tiems, I assure you.

Also... I don't know if I'm being clear, but if pay attention, you'll see what kind of dark, creepy places my self-loathing goes to sometimes. But I shan't give specifics and spoil. /River Song. Also, I don't need a shrink – I self-medicate by writing torturous fanfiction (see 'Fortitude' for my first attempt at this) and wallowing in tragedy. And blame Dan Brown for giving me some fascination with the concept. Paul Bettany didn't help. (Let's see who gets it.) Because who needs Cyclonians? I got shit tons of angst and drama just in the Merb's head all by hisself!


End file.
